#as usual i need to PROGRESS THROUGH AND FINISH A MATERIAL

[itadores]

love and like (it’s not the same)

note: i do hope u like this :( missing my baby (kento) a lot

pairing: nanami kento x gn!reader

word count: 1.2k

tags: gender neutral reader, established relationship (married), nanami calls reader dear & darling, emotional hurt/comfort, reader is feeling insecure

“Do you like me?”

From where he's seated on the couch, Kento glances at you, his reading glasses hanging low on the bridge of his nose. You're leaning against the doorway to the living room, arms loosely folded across your chest. You’re dressed in your usual loungewear, which consists of a pair of comfortable cloth shorts and an old shirt of Kento’s that you claimed as your own long ago. It brings a small smile to Kento’s face before he remembers that he has yet to respond. He raises a brow as your question fully sinks in.

“We’re married, dear,” Kento answers, eyes drifting back to the pages of his book - one that he's been meaning to finish for the longest time. He’s made it about half way through and hopes that he can make some more progress before retiring for bed later this evening. "I love you."

"I know. I love you too, but—” you pause. “But do you like me?" Your voice cracks, and silence rings throughout the room.

Kento lowers his book into his lap, the paragraph he was in the midst of long forgotten. Your voice sounds small and unsure and so unlike your usual self, drawing Kento's immediate concern. He looks at you once more, studying you more closely this time. Your body has folded into itself. Your shoulders are hunched and tensed as if you’re physically bracing yourself to take on the weight of Kento’s response. Your fingers are woven tightly into fists around the material of your shirt as your gaze remains far from Kento’s direction.

Kento marks his place in his book and sets it aside on the end table near the couch along with his reading glasses. His book can wait until later. There's something much more important that needs Kento's attention.

"Come here, darling,” he says, voice soft.

You move like a wounded animal as you slowly shuffle across the room, the mismatched socks on your feet muffling the sound of your steps. Gingerly, you take a seat on the couch beside Kento, settling your weight on the very edge of the cushion as if you're ready to dart at any given moment. Your body is wound tight with tension, the hard lines of your shoulder heavy. Your hands lay in your lap, fingers fidgeting with each other to relieve your anxious energy.

Kento covers your hands with one of his own and squeezes.

"What prompted this?" he gently asks.

You stop playing with your fingers, loosening your tightly interlocked hands and allowing Kento to slide his hand into yours. He rubs circles with his thumb against the back of your hand, trying to loosen the rigidity running through your body. Back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. His thumb traces a path for itself into your skin. Kento is patient as he waits for you to gather your thoughts, aware of how difficult it can be for you to voice your vulnerabilities.

"I don't know," you quietly say, a tinge of frustration in your tone. Your shoulders are tight against your ears before you drop them, sagging. Your body wilts. "Just got too in my head, I guess. Started thinking about my relationships with people and whether they actually like me or just feel obligated to be around me. It's stupid I know but once I started thinking, I couldn't stop."

"Nothing that concerns you could ever be stupid, dear," Kento says, soft yet firm. "Thank you for coming to me with your worries. I know it must not have been easy for you to do so." He squeezes your hand before removing it from your lap and bringing it closer to him. He places your joined hands in his lap.

"I did not marry you out of any sort of obligation. I married you because I love and care for you."

Kento raises your hand to his face and brushes his lips against your knuckles in a gentle kiss.

"Of course, I like you. I would be a fool not to."

You suck in a quiet breath, and the spool of tension within you completely unravels.

The couch dips with your abrupt movements, and Kento grunts when you suddenly shift the majority of your weight onto him. Your arms wind tightly around his torso as you bury your face into his chest. Although unexpected, Kento is quick to adapt and adjusts his position to better accommodate you. He leans further back into the corner of the couch, providing you with more room to be comfortable. He lays his arms across the expanse of your upper back, folding his hands together, and rests his cheek against the top of your head. You breathe Kento in and exhale, melting into his touch and sinking into his embrace.

"Thank you, Kento," you murmur. He feels your words more than he hears it with your face properly buried into the material of his sweater.

He presses a comforting kiss to your hairline. "Of course, darling. I'm glad I could at least be of some assistance."

He feels you huff against his chest. A good sign. Kento's remaining concern unlodges itself from his throat.

This is not the first time you've expressed having these thoughts, and Kento is not so naive to think that this will be the last time that your traitorous brain will lead you astray. Kento only hopes that he can guide you back onto the right path with the little comfort he can offer you. If only you could see yourself from Kento's perspective, you would never doubt yourself again.

You stay as you are for a while, with you fully enveloped in Kento's embrace and your head resting on his chest, listening to the sound of his steady heartbeats. He has no doubt that you must be emotionally exhausted by this point, believing that you may have fallen asleep with how quiet you've gotten. Kento mentally resolves himself to a night of numb limbs and a morning of a stiff neck and joints.

"Kento?"

Kento hums, mildly surprised that you had not fallen asleep.

"Yes, darling?"

You rub the loose material of his sweater gathered at his sides between your fingers, fiddling with the fabric. You peel your cheek off of Kento's chest, moving to rest your chin in the same spot as you look up at Kento through your lashes.

"I like you a lot. I hope you know," you softly say.

A soft smile paints itself across Kento's face. He leans forward to press a gentle kiss to your forehead before nuzzling his nose against yours.

"Thank you for the reminder," he breathes out, honest and sincere. "I like you too," he tells you once more before slotting his lips with yours. He hopes the kiss conveys all that he is unable to put into words. All of the love and care he holds in his heart for you. Kento draws back when he’s sure that your lungs must be reaching its limit without air, much to your displeasure. Kento lightly chuckles when he sees your expression, leaning in to kiss the pout off your lips. He lingers close, your exhales mingling in the space between you.

If Kento has to remind you of his devotion to you every day for the rest of your lives, he will gladly do so.

[daydreamingqueen1]

spencer gifting reader w lingerie for the first time and being all flustered giving it to her???

Lingerie

hi, love, thank you so much for the request, sorry it took so longg <3 Congrats on being my first request btw

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Warnings: fluff, suggestive, reader in her underwear, nothing explicit, no y/n.

Word count: 1.3k

✰⋆✰⋆✰⋆✰⋆✰⋆✰⋆✰⋆✰⋆✰⋆✰⋆✰⋆✰⋆✰⋆✰⋆✰⋆✰⋆

"It's creepy right? Who does this? Why did I buy it?!"

Spencer had been home for about fifteen minutes before he went and hid inside the bedroom. It took you another twenty before you ventured into the hallway quietly and heard him talking to himself in progressively more panicked whispers.

This was not normal but maybe it had been a bad case. However, when that happened, he was usually inclined to cling to you in silence until everything felt a bit less, not hide away.

This is not it.

"God, I'm a pervert!"

Okay, that's enough. You need to intervene. You give a few overtly loud steps to warn him of your presence.

Spencer is pacing the room back and forth, a black bag in his hand. He flies to hide the bag behind his back the moment you walk in, a blush spreading through his cheeks.

"Spencer? What's going on?" You ask cautiously.

He gives you a reassuring smile, a poor attempt at one at least, "Nothing! Nothing, everything is completely fine."

You arch your eyebrow, "Really?"

Spencer presses his lips together in a line and nods way too quickly.

You sigh, torn between amusement and slight concern, "You know you are the profiler of the two of us, right?"

"Yeah..."

"Then you shouldn't be this bad at hiding something, Spencer." Your deadpan look only manages to turn him redder.

Staring back at you guiltily, he gulps. "I– I'm sorry, sweetheart."

You give a few tentative steps closer to him, your expression turning more worried by the second, "What's wrong, Spence? Did something happen?"

He's quick to shake his head and reassure you, "No, no, nothing like that, everyone's fine."

You exhale a relieved breath.

"It's just... silly." Spencer finishes, shifting uncomfortably on his feet.

Closing the distance between you two, your hand comes to rest over his chest, "It's okay, you deal with my silly all the time," you give him a small encouraging smile, "What does the pretty doctor have in between hands?"

"I–" he hesitates again before sighing and mumbling like a child, "I bought you something."

"Oh?" you truly didn't expect that answer, surprise flooding your features, "Why are you so flustered then? Can I see it?"

The crimson color returns to his cheek and you think he's a second away from bolting out from the room. He hangs his head in defeat and finally relents, revealing the mysterious black bag from behind his back.

Giving him a quizzical look, you take it in your hands. You're almost apprehensive as you pull out the silk paper from the top and discover a small nondescript box inside. The cardboard feels expensive against your hands, you shoot your nervous boyfriend another glance before finally opening it.

"Oh."

Silence fills the room for the next few seconds. You're about to open your mouth when—

"I'm sorry!" Spencer's nervous energy snaps and he starts babbling out an apology, "You don't have to wear it. I shouldn't have bought it without asking you first. I– I can't return it but we can just toss it and forget about it. I'm sorry, really, please don't think that I'm a creep."

You can't help it, you laugh at his frantic response, "Calm down, Spencer, you're not a creep. I love it."

Spencer seems about to go off into another lengthy apology before your words register on his brain.

"...What?"

"I love it." You smile genuinely at him before looking down at the contents of the box. Inside rests a set of lovely purple lace lingerie. Your hand reaches for the material and your smile widens even more at the luxurious feel of the fabric.

You launch yourself to hug him, "Thank you!"

"You're not mad?" He asks as if he was expecting you would slap him rather than hug him. You feel the heat of his flushed cheeks against you.

"Why would I?" You take the garments between your fingers and appreciate them closely. Taking pity on his nerves, you give his shoulder a comforting squeeze, "You're allowed to buy sexy underwear you want to see your girlfriend in, Spencer."

"Am I?" he says incredulously.

"Yes," You respond, chuckling and then grinning excitedly, "I'll go try it on!"

His eyes widen comically and before he can say anything else you run with your new set to lock yourself inside the bathroom.

You shed your clothes and put on the lacey bra and matching panties, critically observing your reflection on the mirror. It's a really pretty set. The lace feels soft and expensive against your skin, Spencer must have spent a considerable amount on it.

The lingerie set it's not even that risqué to have put Spencer at the edge of a panic attack, you think to yourself with amusement, you've seen more provocative stuff in department stores.

Trutfully, it's perfect. The bra hugs your breasts, pushing them up and leaving the top prettily displayed, the panties frame your bum flatteringly and cinch around your hips perfectly. Plus the color contrasts nicely with your skin tone, though you suspect that's not the reason why he chose it.

Giving one last appreciative glance to your figure, you fluff your hair before exiting the bathroom.

You find Spencer sitting on the side of the bed, playing with his hands like he always does whenever he's nervous. His head immediately snaps up at the creek of the door.

Gathering all your courage, you put on a show, walking through your room with an enticing sway of your hips, your eyes staring directly at him.

Humming the tune of that one sexy song, you give a slow and playful turn to let him take you all in. You stop when you are facing him again, your hands resting on your hips and your eyebrow raising expectantly, "Well? How do I look?"

Spencer is too stunned to speak, his mouth parted in a dumb expression of wonder. It gives you an incredible rush.

"Sweet heavens," he exhales, you don't think he knows he's saying it out loud.

Under his admiring gaze, you become suddenly shy, your hands crossing over your middle, not knowing how to deal with so much of his undivided attention. "Oh, um... it fits."

"It certainly does," Spencer whispers in that airy tone again, his fingers stretching towards you and delicately tracing the edge of the lace panties. Goosebumps erupt all over you.

"Didn't think you'd know my bra size," you comment, desperately trying to stop your heart from wildly beating inside your ribcage.

"I didn't," He pulls you closer and you fall onto his lap, your arms instinctively closing around his neck, "I calculated it based on my memories."

"So you've thought about me naked while you were buying it," you say, regaining some of your confidence.

That seems to pull him out of his indulgent trance, his ears turning a bit pink, "Well... yeah, but just because they said I couldn't return underwear and–"

You stop him before he flusters himself again, "I'm just teasing you, Spence. You are also allowed to think of your girlfriend naked."

He looks up at your face and his lips curl in an uncharacteristically smug smirk.

"Not now!" You exclaim chuckling and slapping his shoulder playfully, "I guess that eidetic memory can serve naughtier purposes."

Spencer huffs out a laugh and closes his arms around your waist, pecking your lips sweetly, "You liked your present then, sweetheart?"

"I do, it's lovely," You pretend to go for another kiss but instead push his chest, making him fall back on the mattress.

“Hey,” he protests weakly, looking up at you with adoring eyes.

You lean forward, caging his head between your arms, a coy smile forming on your face, “Let's give that wonderful brain of yours a fresh memory to relive, eh?”

Let's just say the lingerie set doesn't stay on for much longer after that.

✰⋆✰⋆✰⋆✰⋆✰⋆✰⋆✰⋆✰⋆✰⋆✰⋆✰⋆✰⋆✰⋆✰⋆✰⋆✰⋆

I'm shamelessly peaking my head in here again, sorry for taking so long without posting, life has been having fun kicking my ass but luckily I'm on vacation now so I'll be more active yaaay

♡, reblogs and comments are appreciated <3

Requests are open!!

hope ya liked it, byebye

my masterlist

[courtforshort15]

All I Feel is You

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem Reader

Word Count: 10,700

Summary: The story of how Matt Murdock falls in love with you, as told through the five senses

Trigger Warnings: Mentions of sex and oral sex

Written for this post by @dorothleah

Seriously guys, this was supposed to be short🤣🤣

Masterlist

1. Touch

The fabrics you tend to wear are warm and inviting and almost begging to be touched. Every single thread is soft and calming, more so than what Matt is accustomed to finding on friends and the general public, and it's become a much welcomed change. He's noticed that you very rarely wear cotton, instead sticking to silk and satin and cashmere, and though you’ve only been at the firm a scant few weeks, he is addicted and can’t help but want to run his fingers up and down the fabric, dying to know how it would feel underneath his fingertips. 

He’s felt silk and satin and cashmere before, often preferring those materials on his own skin, but he’s never felt them on you, and it somehow still changes the way he gravitates towards them. The thought is arousing and enticing in a way he would have never thought possible. 

The fabric slides over your skin as you move, and Matt finds the sound almost distracting, wishing it was his fingers that were sliding over you instead. When you wear dresses, the material sways around your legs as you walk by him, and it takes everything in Matt to not pull you close and slide your dress up, just so that he can test if the clothing you wear is as soft as the inside of your thighs.

His fingers twitch at his sides whenever you move past him, ruthlessly pushing all indecent thoughts away and out of his head. He knows that if he were ever to touch you like the way he's hungered for weeks, he'd never be able to stop. 

Matt very nearly loses all semblance of control the first time you grab his hand and place it around the crook of your elbow, silk blouse pressed between his flesh and yours. 

Typically Foggy is the one to lead him, perhaps even Karen, because leading a visually impaired individual is a skill, and it requires a certain level of finesse and anticipation of the other’s needs. You’ve been hesitant, he’s aware, to guide him, though not because you don’t want to help him; it’s because you’re afraid you’ll mess up, you admit, and he outwardly laughs in your face. 

You flush, smacking his chest, and tell him you’re nervous you’ll forget to remind him of a step up or down, nervous you’ll walk him right into something or someone. He finds it adorable, especially given the fact that he has better coordination and direction than you ever will.

He’s not ready to tell you that yet, though the secret is constantly brimming at his lips, ready to spill at any given moment, regardless of the consequences.

But one day Foggy has a late meeting with a client across town, and Karen has left early for a date, and it’s just you left in the office with him. The long work day ends with a quiet sigh, the office pleasantly peaceful as the last few hours of work tamper off, and Matt startles when you kindly offer to help walk him home. It’s later than you’re usually at the office, and Matt briefly wonders if you’ve stayed because he had needed to finish things and wasn’t able to leave at a decent time.

Matt strives for a healthier life-work-vigilante balance, has worked for it since things ended with Fisk a little over a year ago, but he’s still a work in progress. He’s addicted to his work, both the work that sees the light of day and the work that doesn’t, and he still sometimes forgets that it impacts others, too, despite the constant drilling of these details into his mind by Foggy and Karen.

“It’s really not necessary,” he tells you with a laugh after the offer spills from your lips, packing his things up and putting his suit jacket back on, sliding his arms through the sleeves. The weather is still decently temperate, the warmth of summer still desperately clinging to New York City, but he can already feel the way the air outside has started cooling down now that the sun has almost finished its descent below the skyscrapers that surround the neighborhood. “I know my way around Hell’s Kitchen well enough. I’ll be okay.” 

And the words are true enough, with or without his senses. He’s a New York City boy, through and through, and he knows these streets and city blocks like the back of his hand.

You pick up your purse, pushing the strap over one shoulder, before turning back to him. The sound of your hair and the smell of the shampoo still clinging to each strand stirs a sense of want and yearning, one he so desperately wants to satisfy. 

“What if it makes me feel better?”

Matt shakes his head, smirking, the look on his face something Foggy would probably label as the typical Matt Murdock charm. The ticking of the clock echoes through the office, and though he can't read the time, the dull sounds of the New York City streets outside the window tells him it's later than he thought it was.

“And what if the idea of you going out of your way at night just to walk me home makes me feel worse?” He’s teasing, of course, though there’s some level of truth to it. He hates the idea of you walking alone at night, knowing far too well the danger that seems to always lurk in the alleyways, knowing far too well that even he can’t be everywhere at once, should something happen to you.

The words that leave his mouth seem to temporarily quiet you, but Matt’s not shocked when the silence ends after only a moment or two. You're usually quick with a rebuttal, your mind always sifting through sentences and body language, and Matt waits in amusement as you work to find the right reply for the situation. 

“It’s hardly night,” you finally respond, decidedly shoving the concern aside easily. “It’s only 7. There’s still a little light out.”

Matt may not be able to see the way his face lights up or darkens with certain expressions, but he knows he’s giving you the driest look possible. “You’d still be going far out of your way. Don’t you live in the opposite direction?”

He hears you scoff, though the sound is more amused than anything. “I can walk you home and take a cab back to my place.”

“You should take a cab back to your place regardless of where you are at this time at night,” he counters, stepping completely out of his office and into the lobby of their space, briefcase in one hand, cane in the other. “But I promise I’m fine on my own. It’s only a few blocks.”

“Humor me.” 

It’s a last ditch effort, he’s well aware, if the helpless sigh you let out is anything to go by. You’re waiting for him by the front door, and Matt, despite his protests, wants nothing more than to walk through it with you and bring you home with him.

“Fine,” he says with another sly grin, and he hears the way you exhale in relief. “But only because I’m not going to pass up a few extra minutes with you when you’ve so graciously offered them.”

The words settle between the two of you, and Matt can feel the heat radiating off of your cheeks as vividly as if he was pressed up against you. Your heart skips briefly, and the sound reverberates in his head. He laughs internally in pure satisfaction when you gulp.

“Fine,” you repeat the word back to him, voice slightly higher than it had been a few moments ago, and Matt can’t help but still be secretly pleased with the reaction you’ve given him. “Are you ready then?”

He gestures towards the exit. “Whenever you are.”

“Good,” you say, turning to open the door, but before you can step through it, you pause. Matt tilts his head at you curiously, wordlessly questioning the silence and the way you've hesitated. 

“So…this is an awkward question, and I don’t know how to do it delicately, so I’ll just dive in. At what point–”

Matt cuts you off, suddenly knowing where this was going. This time he's unable to hold back a laugh. “You want to know when you should offer your arm.”

There’s not a moment of hesitation on your end when you answer. “Yeah, pretty much.”

The grin on his face widens, and Matt wonders if it’s possible to ever frown when you’re around. “I can make my way to the elevator just fine,” he says with a brief shrug of his shoulders, unsnapping his cane as he takes a few steps forward. “But having help after that is always appreciated.”

“Got it,” you reply with a quick nod. You turn back to the door, finally opening it up, and step back so that he has room to walk through. “After you, Matt.”

He resists the urge to brush past you as closely as he possibly can, and instead places a careful distance between your body and his. It's almost excruciating, this self-imposed separation, but he pushes the feeling down.

He doesn't need your assistance with this particular task, but he'll be damned if he doesn't take full advantage.

It’s not long before the elevator is dropping you down at the lowest level, and the doors slide open with a quiet ding. He follows your lead, taking a step outside and into the fresh air of the building lobby, and waits patiently for you to reach for him.

Your hand is trembling as it stretches out to grab his, Matt notes curiously, but it’s steady by the time it pulls him slightly forward. Soft fingers settle on the skin of his wrist, and he adjusts his body so that he’s grasping the crook of your elbow as you step further in.

Matt’s stood intoxicatingly close to you before. He's felt the heat of your body close to his as you pass him files, or when you sit next to him at lunch. He’s felt the length of your hair brush his arm lightly as you reach for something that is on the other side of him, felt the way your breath fans over his face when you lean in to whisper something in his ear while at court. It drives him crazy, these little moments of feeling you, always burning and aching for more. 

But through all of that, nothing has prepared him for the feeling of silk that encases your upper arm and the way it feels against your skin resting underneath it. He’s sure he’s gone to heaven, or whatever sort of heaven is possible for a man like him, and he knows then and there that he needs to feel the way your skin will slide against the silk of his own sheets.

You feel far too wonderful him in that moment, wrapped in the soft material the way that you are, and Matt relishes the way your sensitive skin is an equal match to his, knowing he’ll never have to wonder or worry about rough, scratchy fabric rubbing against him if you can help it. It’s exhilarating, this idea that you’ll always be soft and ready for him.

He’s going to have you, one day. You may not know it yet, but there will be a day when he has you spread out and waiting underneath him, and he’ll tell you that it was this moment that was the tipping point for him.

It's hard to focus as you walk him home, saying your goodbyes at his doorstep when a cab pulls up, and he knows his hand will feel empty and bereft until it has the chance to settle on you once more. It’s like he was always meant to hold you, always meant to touch you, and he’ll wait patiently for you to come to the same realization.

*

2. Hearing

Matt has long since learned to drown out noises that aren’t necessary to the tasks at hand. His ears always pick up everything going on around him, relying on them more often than not for obvious reasons, but he’s mastered the art of tuning things out if they are not currently relevant to what he is working on. It’s a skill Stick had taught him, and it is perhaps the best thing that man had ever done for him, encouraging him to focus in the moment while forever remaining vigilant.

The same cannot be said for you.

He's not exactly sure when the others pick up on the way you need things to be softer, but he notices the first time you flinch as the front door slams shut by mistake. 

A potential client, rejected by their team due to several, incessant lies that pour from his mouth in the thirty minutes they meet with him, storms out of the office in annoyance. He mutters angrily to himself as he leaves, and yanks the door behind him, the sound of it echoing throughout the office. 

The sound was expected by Matt, having already anticipated the way it would reverberate throughout their space due to the heaviness and speed of the door headed towards the frame, but with his senses trained towards you, as they so often are, he doesn't miss the way you flinch and cover your ears.

Harsh and loud noises are triggering for you, it seems, and it’s something he can fully sympathize with, unfortunately. He finds it concerning, if not a little intriguing, this flash of vulnerability you display.

Your voice is gentle as it floats out around the office, rarely rising above a certain decibel, almost encouraging those around you to keep things quiet as well. It's impacted the way he, Foggy and Karen listen and speak to each other, making an effort not to shout things through offices, but rather get up and find the person they’re talking to. The transition happens almost over night, and he can sense the way your body relaxes the longer you are employed with them, trusting the team to use voices that aren’t louder than they really need to be.

Over the course of the months you spend settling into their team, you're frequently invited to happy hour at Josie's. It’s easy for him to pick up on the way you love joining the team, having told them you hadn’t felt like New York was home until you accepted their offer of employment, and it warms him. Your cheeks flush with the buzz of alcohol, your posture relaxes, and your speech becomes less poised, less polished. And every time you join them, without fail, you have soft, silicone plugs nestled in your ears while you're seated at the table.

Tonight you’re seated next to him, something that Matt had carefully orchestrated while you were placing a drink order at the bar, adjusting himself so that the only open seat would be next to him. He tries not to give himself away, but he can’t help but lean into you as far as he can without making it extremely obvious how much he wants to be pressed against you at all times.

He inhales sharply when you abruptly twist your body so that you’re angled towards him in a way that suggests he might not be alone in this need that runs viciously through him.

Matt does his best to focus in on the story you’re telling, your arms gesturing wildly as you regale the group with a funny anecdote about your younger brother. Your voice, despite the loudness of the bar, is still gentle in its cadence, and Matt has long since determined that no other voice will ever captivate him the way yours does.

When you’re done, you take a long sip of your drink, the liquid sliding down your throat, and Matt longs to wrap his hand around the column of your neck just to feel it, while maybe tilting your head back to kiss you in the process. 

Before Matt has the chance to ask you a follow-up question about your brother, curious to know more about the life you’ve led before moving to New York, Foggy jumps in with a question of his own, shouting over the noise of the bar.

"I've never asked before, but why do you wear ear plugs when we come here?"

You freeze next to him, and for a brief second Matt wants to shove his friend off of his bar stool. It’s a question he’s always had, though he thinks he already knows the answer, but he hates the way you’ve been put on the spot. He opens his mouth to tell you that you don’t need to answer, but you reply anyway, cutting him off.

"I, uh…I can get overwhelmed with loud noises," you explain quietly, fidgeting with the napkin still resting in your lap, placed there to wipe salt and grease off of your fingers as you munch on the french fries the group had ordered. "Sometimes it just gets to be too much. I can't focus on what's going on in front of me because everything else is just too loud. The ear plugs drown some things out."

Foggy tilts his head in curiosity, and Matt throws him a look of warning, wordlessly asking him to tread carefully, unwilling to let anything upset you. It had surprised him, initially, his reaction to the thought of you being uncomfortable, but now he knows and no longer questions the fact that he’d gladly rake his body over flaming coals if it meant you were always safe and happy and settled in whatever environment you found yourself in.

Foggy hasn’t caught on to his feelings just yet, but Karen has, and he can practically feel the amused side-eye she’s shooting him.

He rests a hand on your knee gently, intending to only leave it there for a second, but your hand suddenly reaches down and grabs it, easily interlacing your fingers with his. Matt tracks the way your cheeks flush, the way your heartbeat stutters for a split second, and is unable to stop the way his face splits open in a smile.

"Can you hear us okay, then? When you have them in?" Foggy questions, continuing on with the topic, completely oblivious to the body language of the people around him. 

You let out a quiet laugh. "You're sitting close enough that it's not really an issue. But I am decent at reading lips, so that usually helps, too."

“Gotcha,” Foggy says with an easy smile. “Let me know if there’s ever anything we can do to help make you more comfortable."

The conversation about your ear plugs ends there, Matt steering them gently towards another topic to help lead the focus off of something he can tell you're slightly self-conscious about, and he's rewarded by another squeeze of his hand. 

After that evening, the group still goes to Josie's fairly often, but they begin taking turns hosting happy hour at their own individual apartments. It becomes a frequent habit, ordering take out and staying in rather than going out, and Matt easily admits to himself that the quieter get-togethers are easier on his own ears, too. 

The lack of the sharp noises and drunken chatter of a bar also gives him the ability to focus on your heartbeat just that much easier, jumping whenever he gently brushes his fingers over yours when handing you another drink or carton of fried rice, and that alone makes the slight change worth it. 

Matt is committed at this point, intimately aware of what his presence does to you, and while he’d wait forever, he’s desperate to hear every single moan, gasp, or sigh he can draw out of you with his body pressed against yours.

"I never did thank you," you say quietly one evening, helping toss the beer bottles in his recycling bin. Foggy and Karen left ten minutes ago, claiming the need to prep a few more things before trial tomorrow, though Matt knows they had strategically left him alone with you on purpose.

Sometimes he thinks his friends are trying to get back at him for the years of chaos and tears he’s caused them.

"Thank me for what?" He asks, throwing some of the leftover Chinese into his fridge. He packs up a small bag of leftover white rice and vegetables for you to take, knowing without verbal confirmation that the slight blandness is something you'll enjoy and appreciate. He enjoys it, too, strong flavors sometimes too much for him, but he would rather you have it.

"You're the one who started encouraging us to spend time as a smaller group at someone's place, rather than going out," you say, voice floating through his apartment. He may not yet have told you about his own senses, but for some reason you've picked up on the way he can always hear you, no matter how soft or loud you are. "And I just really appreciate it. Going out isn't a big deal, but this is still a nice change sometimes."

Matt steps out of his kitchen to where you've picked up your purse from his table and stands directly in front of you, close enough to reach out and touch. He notices the way your breathing catches, as it always does when he stands near, and for whatever reason, tonight he feels emboldened to fully lean into it.

He reaches out to run a gentle finger down your cheekbone, and you sigh and seem to lean into it instinctively. It's all the encouragement he needs to continue. "I've found that I'd do just about anything to make sure you're comfortable," he says, enjoying the way your skin heats, and he takes another step forward, hand now fully cupping the side of your face. "Whatever you need from me to help that, I'll do it."

You pause for a moment, apparently weighing something in your mind, and he feels the moment you've made some sort of decision. He stands still when you take a tiny step towards him, the heat of you downright scalding, and he waits with bated breath for you to say something. 

"You don't need to do anything, Matt," you whisper quietly, taking his other hand in yours. "But thank you all the same. Truly."

Months of him needing you near more than he needs to breathe, months of him needing to put you first before all other things in his life, causes him to close the distance, unable and unwilling to spend one more second of not knowing what your mouth feels like underneath his.

Your lips are warm and soft as he presses against them, and he keeps the kiss gentle. Your hands reach up to wrap themselves in his shirt, and Matt knows he'll spend the rest of his life wanting to hear nothing else but that quiet sigh that leaves your mouth as it parts for his.

*

3. Taste

Matt grew up in perhaps one of the most unique melting pots in the world. 

New York City is an explosive mixture of cultures and ethnicities and races, and he’s been exposed to all the wonderful things that come with the mixture of so many people living in his city - the different music, the different languages, the different dreams and ideals. 

But the one thing that never fails to disappoint and sadden him about it is the fact that all the different foods of the world, so easily within his grasp, can be extremely overwhelming to his sense of taste. It’s a sense of irony that he doesn’t appreciate.

Over the years, he’s learned to cook with minimal spices and flavors, almost desperate to avoid making his taste buds go haywire, but though everything he makes is nourishing and edible, it doesn’t necessarily make them…good. Matt has a relatively bland diet, sticking to foods and flavors that are subtle, and the repetition is boring. 

But then…you come along.

It’s like an explosion, the flavors you bring with you in your lunches and snacks every day. Matt’s mouth salivates over the meals you bring in, knowing without tasting them that nothing you make will overwhelm his taste buds. It’s never anything fancy, he admits. But you’ve tossed ingredients and spices together in a way that he would have never thought to mix, and it suddenly sets him on a renewed journey of finding new things he can’t wait to try.

Rich and savory spices and herbs spill out of your small backpack as you load them in the fridge every day, and the way the scents sometimes stick to your skin makes him want to take you home and never take his tongue off of you.

…which, he feels that way one hundred percent of the time anyway, the taste of your skin divine by itself, but these moments bring out his hunger for you even more. He's had his tongue on you now, had it in you, and he'd gladly spend the rest of his time here on Earth tasting nothing but the salt on every single inch of your body that you'll let him touch.

He's only made love to you once, but Matt can no longer imagine his life without your taste in his mouth.

It's a rainy Friday night in Hell's Kitchen when you manage to drag him to one of your favorite restaurants, though the word drag is used lightly. He's eager and selfish enough to take every spare second you'll give him, but even he can admit that some cases at work require late evenings. There's an everlasting desire to press his lips to yours, if only to draw out every sound he now knows you can make, so he follows you anyway, despite the heavy workload resting on the secondhand desk that's situated in his office. 

The streets of New York City are wet and miserable, but you pull him happily with you, and he has no control over the heart that has decided your hand is a better home and keeper than his own chest.

Before you even round the corner with him half a step behind, he knows instinctively what restaurant you’re taking him to without a word being spoken. It's a few blocks outside of Hell's Kitchen, so he's never really walked by this restaurant before, but now, just a few hundred feet from him, it calls to him, a delicious mixture of spices and herbs and sugars rolling across his tongue that are satisfying without being overwhelming.

He takes his time on your arm, enjoying the way you sway and swerve in between other pedestrians, simply because it gives him an excuse to hold onto you that much tighter. And by the time he holds the door open for you to step inside, Matt's mouth is almost drooling in want and hunger.

It's not long before food is being placed in front of you both, and he wastes not a single second before diving in. He knew before he even entered the restaurant that he was about to eat one of the most fantastic meals of his life, outside of the classic bacon and eggs and pancakes his father used to make him every Saturday morning while he watched cartoons. 

The same explosion of flavors that he had smelled from outside is there, foods that are bold but still somehow subtle, and he swears he's never tasted a combination of ingredients and sauces and spices that fit so well with his palette. 

Add in the fact that the restaurant uses natural products to clean their dishes and wash their vegetables, rather than burning chemicals that scald both his nose and tongue, and it makes him feel like he never wants to eat anywhere else again.

He also never wants to eat or discover new things with anyone else but you again, but that's a conversation for another time. 

"This is one of my favorite places to come to," you say lightly with a soft smile on your lips, and Matt hmms in agreement, because it has suddenly managed to become one of his favorites, too. "I found it a few months back. It’s relatively new, I think. It just has so many options to choose from that fit with the sorts of things I like."

Matt lifts his fork to his mouth, eyes briefly shutting in contentment, a swirl of rich, savory flavors that settle enticingly on his tongue. He savors it before he swallows.

He can track down every ingredient used for this specific dish. The vegetables are the same ones Monica Smith sells in her small market on 42nd, the chicken from the butcher on 57th. Most of these ingredients are sold fresh and locally, sources that Matt often trusts with his own meals that he cooks himself, and there's nothing more comforting than tasting Hell’s Kitchen, than tasting home on his tongue.

"Do you come here often, then?" He asks once he places his fork down and takes a sip of his drink. 

Your mouth twists into a smirk. "You've already got me, Matthew. No need to use a pick up line.”

A startled laugh escapes his throat, and the sound echoes throughout the quiet restaurant. "That's not how I meant it."

"Felt like you were putting the moves on me like we were some sort of dive bar," you tease. You blow on the spoonful of soup you're about to wrap your mouth around to eat, and Matt can't help but think of the way your mouth had been wrapped around him not too long ago.

"No need to put the moves on you when I've apparently already got you, sweetheart," he fires back with a grin. "Though I'd be very interested in discussing that particular fact later. In detail."

A quiet laugh trickles over to him. "That can probably be arranged."

"Good," is all he says. He takes another bite, and you mirror him, finally placing the spoon in your mouth. Matt lets out a quiet moan, both at the taste of the food in his mouth and the taste that's now resting on your tongue, eager to pull you to him and share it with you by way of placing his mouth greedily on yours.

"But to answer your question, I do," you tell him once you swallow, and Matt simultaneously attempts to push the arousal away temporarily (he fails), and smiles at the way your voice sounds wistful and happy. He hopes the sound can be contributed to his company just as much as the food in front of you. "It's hard for me to find places that I like."

He tilts his head to the side. "Any specific reason why?"

You shrug, and Matt's attention lazily drifts to the sound the silk makes as it slides over your shoulders. He's had you in his bed now, and the sound of silk and your skin gliding against each other will forever be etched into his memory. 

"Too many places just use ingredients that don't…taste right to me," you answer easily. "Too much salt. Too much grease. Too much everything, really. This place is more gentle, more thoughtful with how they prepare things, I think. Things just feel more natural here."

Matt has to bite back a smile because you just…get it.

He hasn't said a word to you about his senses, not yet at least, but somehow everything about you just fits with him, like you're two pieces of a puzzle, meant to connect and stay connected, revealing an image that only the two of you can see and feel.

"I understand what you mean by that," he says softly, reaching out to grasp your hand in his before he pulls away to grab his beer. "Have you always been that way? Sensitive to different foods? I've noticed the types of things you bring in for lunch; seems to be a common thread."

He feels the way your hand halts on its way to your mouth, and the pause sets him briefly on edge, the sound of your heartbeat stuttering for just a quick second. Opening his mouth, Matt means to ask what's wrong, but you answer before he can do so.

"Yeah, I've always been like this. I, uh…I'm on the spectrum," you tell him before shoving the bite of your salad in your mouth. Matt's mouth drops a fraction of an inch, honestly having not suspected the response. But it makes him pause, because all of a sudden it clicks that he has observed traits that seem to be consistent with what he knows about the diagnosis. 

Sensitivity to sound. Sensitivity to certain fabrics. Sensitivity to taste. He hadn't caught on before, but now it just…makes sense.

You continue. "I'm a fairly mild case, honestly, but certain tastes and textures of food are just overwhelming sometimes, or they don't feel right in my mouth. It's hard to explain."

His focus quickly shifts to the way you adjust in your seat, as if nervous about his reaction, and he finds himself intensely disliking the thought of you regretting your admission in any way.

"You could try to explain, if you're comfortable with it," he suggests softly, reaching out to gently grasp and squeeze your hand again before he pulls back, needing you to know that anything you divulge is safe with him. He hopes that when he's ready to divulge a secret of his own, you'll sit and really hear him, the way he's always needed someone to hear him, the way he's always needed someone to hear him and still love him.

"Whatever you have to say, I want to listen."

Taking a deep breath, you place your fork on your plate, though Matt doesn't necessarily take it as a sign that you're uncomfortable with the topic, to which he is grateful, but rather something that indicates you're planning in your head what you want to say.

When you finally answer, Matt is utterly powerless to do nothing but give you every single cell of attention that resides in his body.

"I'm not necessarily shy about it, I'm actually pretty open about it, but I guess there's not much to say," you begin, sounding less hesitant than you had sounded just seconds before. "It's pretty common for people on the spectrum to be picky eaters, and that's always been the case for me. But even if it's common, it doesn't mean it's necessarily well understood why, and no two people and their reactions are the same. For some reason, it tends to be more prevalent in women, which makes it even more difficult to track or explain because there isn't a ton of research on women who are autistic. Most studies focus on men."

He hmms in the back of his throat, tilting his head to the side in consideration. "I guess I hadn't really thought about that."

"Most people don't," you say after another bite, and he frowns lightly at the tone of nonchalance in your voice, because even though you sound unaffected, he can hear the quiet waver that suggests that there's a part that ever so slightly bothers you at people's general lack of acknowledgment of the matter. He vows to learn every single thing you're able to teach him, vows to read every single book, published article, or internet post he can find. "Long story short, my sense of taste tends to be limited in terms of what I can tolerate, you know?"

Matts quiet for a moment before he responds. "Oddly enough, I can understand that," he says with a small smile, raising his glass to take another sip of his drink. 

"I figured you would," you reply with a light shrug, the movement stirring the air around you, making the scent of you carry over to him enticingly. He opens his mouth ever so slightly to catch the taste on his tongue. "You tend to order pretty simple things when we all go out. You stick to the same foods and drinks for the most part."

A smirk replaces the grin on his face. "You've been paying attention to me? What am I supposed to do with that information, I wonder?"

He can feel the way your face flushes, and he imagines the color that is blooming rapidly across your cheeks. He vaguely remembers the color red, and he wonders if your skin is vibrant and bold right now, or if the hue is soft and sweet.

"Am I wrong, though?" You ask, neatly avoiding his own questions. "You prefer things that are subtle, things that taste smooth, as opposed to things that taste sharp or in your face, I guess? Do you know what I mean by that?"

"I do. Things that are easy rather than bold," he says with a quick nod. "I can't do bitter or spicy or sour."

Your face splits into a grin. "Exactly. Certain flavors are nice, but they can't be overwhelming or I just kinda…start to shut down. I don't tend to like new things. I'm perfectly happy sticking to the things I know I like."

Matt leans back in his seat as he places his napkin on the table in front of him. He waits until you swallow before speaking again, diving in for the kill, knowing exactly what sort of reaction he's hoping to get from you.

"I'm typically the same way," he says with a smirk. "Though, based on the other night, I'd have to say that my new favorite taste is you."

Your skin flares to life again as you take in a sharp breath, and the smile on his mouth is wide with borderline glee and satisfaction when you give him just the response he had been looking for.

He practically pats himself on the back for a job well done, but is unprepared for your response.

"Well," you say slowly, voice quiet and wavering for just a split second before it strengthens, "if that's the way you feel, then maybe we could go back to your place and you can have me for dessert."

It's Matt's turn to be momentarily speechless, and while blood had rushed to your cheeks at his comment, his own blood heads straight to his cock at yours, and at the thought of having his mouth on you again makes him go absolutely feral.

When he regains his ability to speak, he flags down the waiter he can hear at the table next to him, and asks for the check with a speed he's never managed to achieve, despite his years of snapping at the heels of every violent and manipulative criminal in Hell's Kitchen.

Your soft laugh continues to echo in his ear as he practically drags you to his apartment. 

*

4. Scent 

You miss two or three days of work a month due to what you’ve described as chronic migraines, and the whole office cringes in sympathy whenever you call out. Matt is no stranger to headaches, having had his head bashed in too many times to count, and he knows he’s caused several headaches of his own for Foggy and Karen, the direct result of them being friends with a man who is always finding himself in some sort of trouble.

But migraines, he’s heard, are a whole different ball game, and it saddens him to think of you in so much pain.

When you first started working for their firm, the team used to come to your home and bring you case files and notes at your request, as you were always eager to prove that you were a valuable member of their team, despite the illness that randomly knocked you on your ass for sometimes 24 to 48 hours. They all trust you to complete your work, usually staying late and working weekends to make up for lost time, and for months he humored you, if for no other reason than to have an excuse to show up on your doorstep and check up on you.

Now, though…it’s different.

He ignores your request to bring the files over, and is instead armed with decaffeinated coffee, green tea, peppermint tea, anything and everything he’s researched that is recommended to help ease you out of a migraine and prevent future ones. He’s not sure how much of it all works, but he’s willing and desperate to lessen your pain, even if only for a few minutes.

You’d gifted him with a key just a few weeks ago, shortly after he had told you he loved you for the first time. Unlike most things in his life, being with you is effortless and calm. The transition from friendship to this was seamless, the pair of you somehow knowing this was something meant to last, so he lets himself quietly into your apartment without a second thought. 

The air conditioning is cranked up and blasting as it always is when a migraine sets in, something about heat being a trigger for you, and he doesn’t need to see to know that all the blinds are shut, cutting out all of the natural light and the warmth that would have hit his skin through the windows.

You’re in your bedroom, your heartbeat too rapid for his liking, so he sets the items he’s brought over onto your counter, removes his shoes and suit jacket, and makes his way towards you. You don’t say anything when he settles in behind you, just grabs his arm and pulls it around you, and within a few moments, you’re dead asleep. It’s as if you had been waiting on him before you could fully relax, trusting him to watch over you in your moments of vulnerability.

It’s hours later, well into the evening, when you finally stir again, your body stretching before sinking further into his. Matt had drifted off to sleep beside you for a bit, but had already been awake for an hour before your eyes fluttered open, grateful that your heart rate had decreased and your breathing settled into something more peaceful. The way your body physically reacts to any sort of stress, whether it be sickness or an impending deadline, never fails to put him on edge, ready to leap into the fray of whatever has the potential to cause you harm.

“You’re still here?” Your voice is groggy with sleep, though it’s not as tight with pain as it normally is when you’re in the throes of a migraine, so Matt finds himself relieved that the worst of it may have passed.

“I didn’t want to leave,” he whispers in your ear, tightening the arm resting around your waist. “I don’t have to go out for another few hours or so.”

“What time is it?”

“Just after 7,” he said, placing a kiss to the top of your head from where it’s almost tucked under his chin. “I got here around 3, after the meeting with that new client.”

“And you stayed the whole time?” The words are quiet, but they still sound slightly incredulous. “Matt…you had so much to do today.”

“Nothing more important than making sure you’re okay,” Matt responds easily, slotting his legs up behind yours, pressing the entire length of his body against you. You’d called early this morning while he had been on his way to work, claiming that an awful migraine had started up last night, and he had rushed through his day as quickly as possible. “Are you feeling better?”

You make a non-committal noise. “Maybe a little. I think my meds kicked in this afternoon.”

Matt hums quietly in your ear. “Have you considered a new brand? They don’t seem to be helping much. You still get them pretty frequently.”

Shifting in his hold, you suddenly turn to face him, and Matt adjusts by rolling slightly on to his back, allowing you to curl up against his side and lay your head on his chest. Matt uses the opportunity to brush a kiss against your forehead, the heat of your skin against his always welcome. He had long since removed his pants and shirt, having taken them off before he decided to nap with you, and the way you snuggle closer reminds him that you like being skin to skin just as much as he does.

“They help as much as they can,” you say with a subtle shrug. “It’s hard when something triggers it.”

Matt stills the hand that had naturally risen up to brush lightly against your back. “What triggered it?”

“The lady that came in yesterday afternoon.”

He furrows his brow, searching back through his memory. “Mrs. Henderson?” He feels you nod against his chest, still shuddering and inching impossibly closer. “What about her?”

“It was her perfume.”

“Her perfume triggered the migraine?” You nod again, and Matt frowns mildly as he starts piecing some things together. 

It clicks. “Are you migraines…scent triggered?”

You sigh against him, throwing a leg over his, further settling yourself against him, and Matt tightens his arm. Your eyes flutter shut as you speak. “Yeah, usually. Being around strong scented things can be awful.” 

Matt’s not sure why he hadn’t recognized it before, now that he thinks back on it. The way your apartment always smells clean, but not in a way that smells like a solution of pure chemicals. It always smells more natural, made up of subtle scents that are warm rather than piercing. Your detergent is in similar fashion, and the shampoo you use on your hair is soft and almost indistinct to anyone who doesn't have a nose like his. No candles. No air fresheners. It’s a wonder that he hasn’t noticed it, given the fact that he has always used similar products at his own place that are equally kind to his nose.

“How come I didn’t know this?” Matt questions curiously. He should have known, uniquely prepared and understanding of yet another sensory factor that he has in common with you. But unlike your own unique sensitivity, Matt has found a way to block out most scents, especially the more unpleasant ones that come with living in New York City. 

“Didn’t seem important.”

“Didn’t seem–? It’s super important, if it means there’s something that causes you this much pain,” he argues quietly, resuming the movement of his hand running up and down your back. You arch into the touch. “I might not be able to help all of the time, but I might be able to help with this.”

Matt knows you know exactly what he’s talking about, having told you his biggest secret not long into the relationship. You take a sudden deep breath.

“I guess I didn’t think of it that way,” you admit quietly. “It didn’t really occur to me, that this might be something you could maybe…help with.”

“We’ll figure it out, sweetheart,” he whispers into your ear, shifting his head to kiss your cheek. “Whatever I can do to help, just like I said before.”

You nod sleepily into his chest, the conversation having apparently worn you out already, and Matt huffs a laugh when your eyes close again and don't reopen.

It doesn’t take long to develop a routine from there on out. Matt’s able to pick up on a scent headed up the elevator that he knows will bother you, long before the client even enters the office of Nelson, Murdock & Page, and he takes great care in either encouraging you to work from home the rest of the day, or hoarding you in his own office, the quiet and unassuming scent of your shampoo and detergent an everlasting sense of peace to his own sensitive nose.

It’s only been a few months, but he has every intention of permanently blending your scent with his.

*

5.  Sight

You prefer muted lights over fluorescent ones.

It doesn’t take long for Matt to notice that the lights in your apartment are warm and relaxing, a strong contrast to the lights he can hear in other various settings. It’s no surprise to him, not really, when he pairs this detail with all the other sensitivities you have. And while the low lights are a benefit to your eyes, Matt considers them a benefit to his hearing.

He’s never mentioned it, but even though he can’t see the harsh lights of a courtroom or police station, he can hear them, and the buzzing noise isn’t always pleasant. He can block most things out, but the constant thrumming does wear on his nerves sometimes, a sharp sound that blazes across his skin before settling in his ears.

He appreciates coming home to you, for more reasons than he could ever possibly count, knowing that the only lights you’ve brought with you when you moved in are soft and warm and blessedly quiet.

Matt knows your eyes are sensitive, that you wear sunglasses whenever you’re outside, regardless of sun or rain or snow, and the lenses that perch on your nose have a special blue-light filter to help take away the strain of staring at a computer screen for too long. He split the cost of having custom sized curtains throughout the apartment to drown out some of the light, and he’s heard you explain to Foggy and Karen the reason the backlight on your phone is so muted.

This isn't something he can necessarily relate to, the one sense of five he is lacking and will never regain. He remembers what it was like to see, colors and faces and neighborhoods rich and vibrant, but light had never caused him actual pain.

He will forever live his life in the dark, even while you remain the bright and pulsing star he will never stop orbiting around.

Over the course of the past year and a half, Matt has spent time tracking the similarities he has with you. All the sensitivities that match up, and it's brought so much comfort to his life that he doesn't know how to articulate it. You've begun building a life together that is soft and soothing for you both. 

He's not surprised that the topic of his own sight has taken so long to be brought up. Calm and simple conversations have sprouted up here and there, and he's always known that you'd haven't avoided the topic, but rather simply made it clear that while losing his sight has continued to be a large part of his story, it is not necessarily the one that is most important to you.

You have always understood that he is more than his blindness, even before his big reveal. And when the topic finally surfaces, it carries both more and less weight than it has anytime before. 

"Matt," you begin quietly, settled in his arms after he absolutely wrecked your world with his fingers, his tongue, and his cock. He's wrapped himself around you from behind, one of his favorite ways to ensure that you're here with him, that you're safe, that you're his. "Can I ask a question?"

He makes a sound in the back of his throat quietly, indicating that yes, you can ask him anything. He has stripped down every barrier that keeps you from him, both his walls and yours, and there is nothing he'll deny you. 

You must pick up the unspoken words he's given you in a language only the two of you understand, so you proceed. "If this sounds insensitive, please tell me. I don't want to upset you, I'm just curious."

Beyond interested now, Matt rolls you in his arms until you're facing him. Your breath gently rolls over him as he pushes a lock of hair behind your ear. "What is it, sweetheart?"

Taking a deep breath, your mouth parts in response. "Do you…ever wish you could still see?"

The question makes him pause in a way he hasn't quite stilled before. He's been asked the same question hundreds of times over the decades of his life since the accident, and the answer has always been the same. In an effort to tell people he's happy with where his life is at, in an effort to make people not pity him by him thinking a part of his life is missing, he has always responded with a quick, no, I'm fine. I've gotten used to it.

And while he is fine, the reasoning goes far beneath what he hands out for others to know. Matt may struggle with believing he is worthy of being loved and adored, but one thing he is sure of is that he doesn't owe anyone his story, and that very few deserve to hear it. 

He told Karen once that he wished he could see the sky one more time in a rare moment of opening up, though he admits that he had mostly done so to earn her trust in a display of offering a vulnerability. He had hoped it would inspire an admission of her own, something to help guide him towards the next clue to the puzzle in her case, but he had been unsuccessful.

But that was neither here nor there.

The question falling from the lips he'd gladly spend every second pressed against is quiet, less probing than others who have asked, and he knows this is yet one more thing he's unable to keep from you. 

Actually, the word is no longer unable, but rather unwilling, because there's not a single piece of himself that he wants to keep hidden from you. You own him, body, heart, and soul, and months ago that acceptance of ownership came with the realization that he has no desire to be anything but open and free beneath your fingertips.

A soft hand runs up his torso and settles over his heart, a quiet yet intentional moment of comfort, and you speak before he gets a chance to reply. "You don't have to answer if you don't want to."

He shakes his head. "No, it's not that. I'm just thinking."

"Take your time, love," is all you say, and the term of endearment never fails to knock him off his feet. You are his love, but he is also yours.

With a subtle clearing of his throat, he opens his mouth to answer, not an ounce of hesitation, though the words at first seem disjointed because he's not quite sure how to say what he wants to say. 

"I…yes and no," he starts softly in your ear. "There...are certain things I wish I could see at least once, or at least one more time, but for the most part, no. I don't necessarily wish that."

Sheets rustle as you push a thigh between his to press even closer. "Is it because you just have accepted it? That there's nothing you can do about it, so no use thinking about it?"

"In some ways, sure," he tells you, pointer finger drawing lazy circles on your hip. "But I was angry about it for a long time. Angry that my vision was taken from me because I tried to help someone. I felt like I had been punished by a god who only ever saw the devil in me, rather than the good I had tried to do, even as a kid. But that anger shifted the older I got, and rather than blame God, I blamed the rest of the world for all the injustices, feeling like I was doomed to do nothing but hear them. And it made me furious that everyone else had the ability to actually see these horrible things happening, and yet they did nothing."

"So…you let the devil out," you murmur against his chest, already familiar with this part of the story, having heard the explanation of what had made him snap, the final straw that broke the camel's back. 

"Yes," he whispers back, knowing you held no blame or disgust associated with the sentence you had just let out. "I let the devil out."

Once upon a time he had begged Foggy to understand why he had chosen this particular path, asking him to forgive him for doing what he had thought necessary to save that little girl. He had repeated the process with Karen some time after that, but the results had been even worse the second time, the lie in their friendship and failed relationship a chasm between the two of them.

But with you…there had been no begging involved. No praying at your feet that you would understand it, understand him. The shock had been there, true, when he finally revealed himself all those months ago, laying all his cards on the table, yours to do with what you wished.

A silence had echoed between you, one that had felt like years but had only actually lasted a split second, before you picked up all the cards he had given you, tucked them in your chest for safe keeping, and responded with endless amounts of love and affection. You'd taken his hand just as easily as you'd taken his heart, told him you trusted him to do what he thought was right, and that there was not a single piece of him that you did not want and adore.

"And now? How do you feel about it now? About not being able to see?"

"I talked about this once with Maggie," he replies, recalling the conversation he'd had with her years ago underneath the church. "This idea of looking back on the past and trying to figure out if the life we led was on the right path or not. I told her about all the anger I had felt, all the hurt and betrayal. It took me a long time to realize that maybe God thought sight was unnecessary to do what needed to be done, and that I needed to go through the things I did in order to become Daredevil."

"And has that helped you? Thinking about it that way?"

"Yes," he says without hesitation, without pause. "If getting back my sight meant losing everything else, losing all the things that have helped me to help others, then it wouldn't be worth it."

"That makes sense," you whisper quietly against his chest. Your hair rubs against his skin, and Matt sighs at the contact. "You're Daredevil. Daredevil is Matt Murdock. There's no separating the two, because you're both. You wouldn't be your full self if you couldn't do what you can do."

He pulls you tighter against him. "Yes, I....that's exactly it," he says with a rush of breath that slides over your hair and skin. "I couldn't…be me without it. So, no. I don't wish I could see, not if it meant giving this up."

"And you don't feel the need to see." 

Matt can't help but love the way it's a statement, and not a question. 

"I don't," he says simply. "I've lived the vast majority of my life without sight, and I can live the rest without it, too. I have Foggy. I have Karen. I have our practice. And I have you. My life is complete the way it is."

Fingers trail up his chest, up his neck, and settle on his cheek. Matt instinctively leans his head into the touch, relishing the way you always manage to provide love and affection without saying a word. 

He's not necessarily sensitive to the topic anymore, and certainly never could be with you, this wonderful person in his life who has filled him with warmth, a steady flame licking at his heart and spreading outwards, always finding every crack and crevice to stitch together and make whole. 

He'll never be able to fully articulate the way he's never felt like home with anyone else but you, never be able to fully articulate the way you've righted the axis of his life that has not felt safe or secure since his father died.

All he can do is try. 

Try to explain just how you've pulled him in like a moth to the flame, but never once tried to burn him.

"My eyes haven't worked since I was 9, but you manage to help me see, sweetheart. In a way no one else has been able to before, " he says, and the words cause your breathing to hitch. He continues without much pause. "You describe things to me without me asking. I can hear and feel everything so much, but there's always going to be things I can't pick up on, and you've filled that void for me."

Your hand twitches, curling into itself on his chest, and he doesn't waste a single second reaching up to flatten it against his heart again. "Matt." Your voice is thick with an emotion mimicking both surprise and reverence, and your heartbeat has sped up considerably. 

Bending his neck lightly, he brushes his lips across your forehead. "You just naturally tell me about things going on around me, as if you had been doing it your whole life. I thought it was cute before you knew what I was capable of picking up on, but you haven't stopped. You still describe colors and facial expressions and funny signs you see when we're outside. You still tell me all about these things you notice, as if you want to make sure I don't miss a single thing, and I love you for it."

Seemingly stunned into silence, you lay cradled up against him, heart racing and skin flushed and warm. Winding his hand in your hair, Matt pulls your head back, and waits until he knows for sure your eyes have rested on his face. His smile is soft, as is the skin of your cheek when he moves his hand to stroke a thumb down your cheek, picking up a stray tear that rolled down. 

He tilts his head down to kiss you, but before he can move an inch, you're pulling his mouth down towards yours with a hand of your own wrapped around the back of his neck.

He pulls away after a brief moment before he gently rolls you onto your back, parting your thighs so that he can lay between them, anxious to be pressed against you, pressed in you, in every way he can. You moan as his weight settles on top of you, though it changes to a quiet gasp when his cock slides inside, your cunt still wet from where he had finished inside you not an hour before. 

He's pretty sure you're nothing but wet when you're around him, something that never fails to arouse a sharp sense of satisfaction that he makes your body react that way. It makes it easy to take you whenever he wants, your body ready for his with his name and a murmured yes on your lips. 

Matt captures your mouth again with a soft kiss, and when he pulls away, even as his hips rock languidly against yours, he can't help but whisper the words that have unconsciously circled in his head for months now.

"Out of everything out there, out of everything you've told me or described to me, if I could see only one thing in the world, it would be your face when you say I do."

And with that, he laces his fingers with yours as he presses your hand into the mattress next to your head, lightly tracing over the engagement ring he had slid on to your ring finger not too long ago.

It seems that every one of your sensory sensitivities matches his in some way or another, and he can’t help but be thrilled, be calmed by it. The idea of spending the rest of his life side by side with someone he not only loves and adores and cherishes more than his own life, but someone who appreciates and understands the way that the world is just too much sometimes, someone who has helped him find peace in a way he had never thought possible, has forever changed this path that his life has always been on.

Your mouth parts in a sigh underneath his, and he spends the rest of the night using all four senses to drive you both to the edge over and over again, aware that he'll never need his sight to see how perfectly, how flawlessly you were made for him.

[martiestudies]

This week I start a new semester and I'm not feeling it, at all. So if you're like me and need a little help to get through it, here's a list of things to keep in mind:

Organization is KEY

Blocking when you have classes and what's free time in a visual way is super helpful for figuring out how to plan your semester.

Another important thing is getting the sylabus for your courses so you know how to prioritize; plan realistic study sessions so you can stay on course as much as possible.

Remember to separate big tasks into smaller tasks not only so it's easier to organize but also because it's easier to feel accomplished and staying motivated :)

Be realistic with your goals and limitations

Knowing yourself is super important; plan according to what you know YOU can handle. Dedicate more time to things you struggle the most with, prioritize the harder subjects.

Don't forget that everyone has different limits, and don't compare yourself and your progress to others! Your own pace is the only thing that matters.

Take breaks and time for yourself

Remember not everything is about studying. If you use all your time and energy on school, it's easier to get burnt out. Dedicate time for yourself, take frecuent breaks between study sessions, clear your head with series o a book; I promise coming back to the material and concentrating will be so much easier.

Consult your professors

I cannot stress this enough: ASK. Ask about everything you didn't understand; ask them to explain something again; evacuate your doubts as often as you can, even if they seem silly. Professors usually have available office hours or emails where you can contact them, and they also apreciate a lot when it seems you are putting the effort.

Also! Asking questions and participating in class makes it easier for you to remember and absorb the information you're learning.

Study groups

I'm not the biggest fan of studying with other people, but sometimes it's super helpful knowing a few classmates whom which you can share and compare notes and doubts, motivation and frustrations. Revising with someone else can be useful to check what material you need to study more or test what you already studied.

Stay motivated

A pinterest moodboard, thematic playlists, searching for applications or fun facts about what you're studying, MAKING IT FUN, rewarding ourselves after every goal reached. It's super important to, again, not getting burnt out and losing the drive to finish the semester.

Your brain needs energy

Sometimes we forget how important eating and sleeping well is for academic performance.

Don't skip your meals! And have snacks laying around when you're studying. Eating or drinking something substantial every few hourse helps energize your brain so it can process what you're learning.

Resting enough hours is also essential to maximize the efficiency of studying. Sleeping well and plenty helps you concentrate better, retain information easier and think more clearly.

P e r s e v e r a n c e

Discipline is key to get the results we want, even if sometimes we have to sacrifice free time or more compelling activities. Stay on track, follow the plan and don't give up easily. Remember what you're doing it for.

[pocketjoong]

this is actually so hard for me because do i want san or do i want woo but guess what i will go with the wooyo 🥰🥰

sOOOO i really need some floof with wooyoung, maybe some college bf woo cause he sounds very slay 🔥 take your time with it my dear and good luck 🥰

Thank you so much for requesting Chip! I hope you enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing it! (P.S. Requests are open until 11:59 p.m. PST today!) @nebulousbrainsoup I'M SORRY I FORGOT TO TAG YOU FOR BETA-ING THIS. THANK YOU. ILY.

ꕥ𓂃𓏧 (SYNOPSIS): Fluffy college!bf wooyo headcanons!

ꕥ𓂃𓏧 (PAIRING) non-idol!Wooyoung x gn!Reader

ꕥ𓂃𓏧 (WARNINGS) Lots of FLUFF. Mentions of eating. Mentions of uni being stressful. lmk if I am missing something.

ꕥ𓂃𓏧 (WORD COUNT) 775

☆ You and Wooyoung first met during your freshman year at college. No one would’ve expected your path to cross, especially considering that you were a STEM major while Wooyoung was a dance major. But, on the first day of a general education class, you found yourselves seated next to each other, and a casual conversation soon turned into animated discussions about the creative aspects of your respective fields.

☆ Wooyoung’s infectious laughter and humor quickly won you over, and you couldn’t help but admire his passionate approach to dance and art. Likewise, he was captivated by your intelligence and curiosity, and the way you treated everyone with kindness.

☆ As the semester progressed, you and Wooyoung became study partners, helping each other with your assignments and offering different perspectives on the course material. And even after the semester finished, the two of you remained friends, hanging out with each other whenever you had the time to.

☆ One evening, as you were working on a particularly challenging project for your class, Wooyoung decided to surprise you with a homemade dinner. He knew how stressed you were and wanted to lighten the mood. The dinner in your dorm room marked the beginning of your relationship.

☆ One thing that has remained consistent throughout your relationship is Wooyoung waking up a little earlier than you, tiptoeing into the kitchen to prepare breakfast for both of you, often playing soft music in the background. It’s usually something simple but made with love, like a heart-shaped pancake with a dollop of your favorite jam, or a sweet note by your coffee, expressing his love and wishing you a great day.

☆ Wooyoung also loves to randomly drag you into impromptu dance sessions, even if it's in the middle of your living room or the kitchen. Even if you don’t know how to dance, he patiently teaches you basic dance moves, guiding your steps until you get the hang of the moves. Sometimes, he dances goofily and encourages you to do the same, both of you dancing to the music while your laughter fills the room.

☆ He knows when you’re stressed about your classes, and motivates you to keep pushing forward. He sometimes leaves little encouraging notes in your textbooks or sends you sweet texts during the day.

☆ On tough days, he knows exactly when you need cuddles and comforting words. He wraps you in his arms, holding you close as he reassures you that everything will be okay. He tells you how proud he is of your hard work and dedication, and how much he loves you.

☆ You love attending his dance showcases and performances, and you often invite your friends to join. You sit in the front row, cheering the loudest, and your eyes are glued to him as he moves gracefully across the stage. He never fails to spot you in the crowd, and it fills him with happiness and energy.

☆ Occasionally, you find yourselves studying together. Though your fields of study are vastly different, you both enjoy each other’s company. Sometimes, you end up in the studio where Wooyoung practices dance routines and settle down in the corner, reviewing your notes or working on assignments while he practices nearby. You’re always there to help each other through the challenging parts, and it makes the study sessions much more enjoyable.

☆ Dating Wooyoung also means spontaneous date nights. They can be as simple as a midnight stroll through campus, a movie night at either of your dorms with all your favorite films and snacks, or a surprise outing to a new restaurant you’ve both been wanting to try.

☆ On the days leading up to Halloween, you spend weekends watching your favorite spooky movies in your matching Halloween-themed pajamas. A few days before Halloween, instead of watching movies, you visit a local pumpkin patch and pick out the perfect pumpkins to carve out. And on D-day, you usually go to the local haunted house or Halloween attractions.

☆ For Chritsmas, you decorate your dorm before leaving for the holidays. You both spend a day adorning the space with twinkling lights, ornaments, and a mini Christmas tree. And you make it a point to visit each other’s families for Christmas, exchanging gifts and spending time with loved ones.

☆ Wooyoung doesn't wait for special occasions to express his love. He often leaves small notes hidden around your home with sweet messages, surprises you with your favorite flowers, or simply tells you how much he loves you when you least expect it. His love is a constant presence in your life, and it warms your heart that you found such a precious person to share your life with.

[antichilde]

margin of error: part 2

satoru gojo x fem reader, 2.8k words mdni

in which gojo makes some progress…?

contents: student teacher!gojo, student reader, no curses, college au, slight age difference (gojo is 20, you are a couple years older), he falls first, no smut (for now)

notes: here we go again. as always comments/asks are appreciated. (image citation)

part one | part three | read on ao3 | read on wattpad

Gojo’s pleasantly surprised when you’re the one to initiate the next conversation.

He looks up from his work and spots you hovering by the door to the study room where office hours are set to take place. It’s been a slow day, though to be honest it’s always a slow day when it comes to office hours. Usually people don’t need much help with an intro level course, especially not this early in the school year.

“Is Shoko here?” you ask, hugging your bag to your chest as you look around.

“Just me today. Can I help you with something?”

After carefully weighing your options, you step forwards into the room. “I was going to ask her to go over the stuff from class this week. We usually run through Yaga’s powerpoints.”

Nodding, Gojo opens his laptop and pulls Canvas up. You take a seat across from him, still a little reluctant, eyeing him with what might be dislike but is more likely distrust.

“Just this week’s stuff?” he asks, glancing up at you.

“Mm-hm.”

It’s not a lot of material, nor is it anything particularly challenging, and as Gojo reviews it with you he wonders if this is just some ploy to get closer to Shoko. She is pretty, and although Geto had said you like guys that doesn’t rule out the possibility that you’re into women as well. Besides, there’s no way you’d really need to go through such basic stuff, right? Not when you’d just been taught it the day before.

Your concentration suggests otherwise. He’s surprised by how seriously you take his explanations, jotting down notes and stopping him in several places to ask more questions. By the time he finishes, you seem to have a much firmer grasp on the material.

“Thank you,” you say, putting away your things. “That was helpful.”

He frowns. “You sound surprised.”

“I am, but you’re actually a pretty good teacher.”

The praise catches him off guard, hidden beneath a tone that suggests indifference. His brows furrow for a moment as he tries to get a read on you, though he schools his expression quickly.

“Well, I’m glad to hear that,” he replies, deciding to take your words at face value. “Shoko’s pre-med track is picking up, so she’s just going to be helping with labs outside of class.”

“Yeah, she told me. I didn’t realize it would happen so soon though.” Biting your lip, you take a moment to think. “Is it okay if I stop in after the next lecture?”

“Of course,” Gojo says, already drafting a victorious text to Geto in his head. Nothing too smug, just something along the lines of ‘I’m totally her type she wants me so bad.’ Because that’s gotta be what you’re thinking, right? Asking to come back again so soon?

Getting to your feet, you scoop up your notebook and tuck it under your arm. “Thanks. I’ll see you in class, Gojo.”

You disappear into the hall, shutting the door behind you with a soft click. He sits back, already dissecting the encounter in his mind. It seems that you praise of his teaching abilities had been genuine after all. Definitely progress, not to mention you’d remembered his name this time.

The days grow shorter as October wears on. Gojo’s own school work begins to pick up, though of course most of it poses little difficulty for him. There’s only one class that he thinks might cause problems down the line, and that’s Creative Writing.

“How the hell did you land in Creative Writing?” Geto asks, pouring boiling water into his teacup. “That doesn’t exactly fit your M.O.”

Gojo groans, resting his cheek on the kitchen counter. “It was a last minute edition. I forgot we’re required to take a language arts class, and I’m not going to have time to do it next year.”

Setting down the kettle, Geto leans back against the kitchen cabinets. “I think it’ll be good for you. What’s on the syllabus?”

“Poetry,” Gojo spits, managing to squeeze several cobras worth of venom into that single word. “Who thought having a well-rounded education was a good idea?”

“Not me, that’s for sure. I’ve got a mandatory life sciences class coming up.” Geto pauses, leaning forwards to put himself in Gojo’s line of sight. “But who knows, maybe you’ll be my TA. Just don’t flirt with me too much, I hear you’re quite the distraction.”

Peeking out from beneath the curtain of his bangs, Gojo smiles. “So she said I’m distracting?”

“I think her exact words were ‘pain in the ass,’ but yeah, something along those lines.”

He goes back to sulking, his skin still pressed against the cool stone of the countertop. When he speaks, his voice is muffled.

“Did she really say that about me?”

Shaking his head, Geto smiles faintly as he straightens up. “No, I’m just messing with you. She did tell me that you’ve been helping her with her work though.”

So you’d talked to Geto about him, and by the sound of it you’d had positive things to say. That’s good to know, especially given how impossible it is to read you. Even after meeting a couple more times, Gojo has no idea what’s going on in your head.

“Do you think she’ll show next week?” he asks.

“At the party? Could go either way. I invited her, but she hasn’t gotten back to me yet. It’s hard to pin her down about that kind of thing.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Gojo says, sounding thoughtful. “In case she ever asks me to pin her down.”

He laughs at Geto’s irritated expression. “C’mon, you know I’m kidding.”

“No you’re not.”

“No, I’m not,” he concedes. “But I mostly said it to annoy you.”

Geto checks the time on his phone, pushing off of the cabinets and returning to his neglected mug of tea. Fishing out the bag, he tosses it into the compost.

“You’re not really going through with this, are you?” he asks, taking a sip and wincing as he burns his tongue.

“With what?”

“With the whole ‘I can make her fall for me’ bit. It’s kind of messed up.”

Leaning back, Gojo crosses his arms. He’s pulled this kind of thing before, winning hearts just for the hell of it, and though Geto has never exactly approved, this is the first time he’s said anything outright.

“Are you sure you don’t have feelings for her?” he asks.

Geto sighs, raking his free hand through his hair and pushing it out of his eyes. “I told you it’s not like that. Is it really so hard to believe that I care about my friend’s wellbeing?”

“No, I guess not, though I don’t understand what you’re so upset about. She’s an adult who can take care of herself, right? That’s what you said last time.”

Geto’s phone buzzes before he can answer. He scoops it up from the counter, unlocking it. “Utahime says she’s on her way to drop off drinks for the party.”

The phone vibrates again as another text arrives.

“…And that she’s going to start charging a service fee if we keep asking her to get us alcohol.”

“That seems like a pretty empty threat,” Gojo says, grateful for the change of subject. “I doubt we’ll throw any more parties before I turn twenty-one.”

“God, I hope not. I’d like to get at least some of our security deposit back.”

Shoving his phone into his pocket, Geto sets his tea on the counter and turns away. “I’m going to meet her outside. I’ll text you if we need your help carrying anything.”

“Okay, just let me know!” Gojo calls after him, reaching for his phone. It’s muted before Geto’s even had time to shut the door.

Gojo bounces his knee under the desk, neglecting the poem that he’s supposed to be annotating. Creative Writing has been even more of a pain than he’d expected— something about it just doesn’t click with him. He sighs, frowning as his eyes drop to the paper.

To Gojo, pretty words are a means to an end. They’re good when he wants something, but when it comes to writing he can’t see much value in them. Why use something in a hundred words when one will do? And why curate those hundred words when they’re not even necessary in the first place?

“You look unhappy.”

He jumps at the sound of your voice, looking up to see you standing in the doorway.

“I’m fine,” he says with a smile, shoving the paper under his computer and safely out of sight. “Just doing some homework.”

Part of him wants you to push the subject, to question him about his behavior and ask if he’s alright. But you don’t. Instead you take your seat, pulling out your notebook and setting it on the table just like you always do.

“I was looking at the study guide for the next test, and I think I might’ve missed a couple things in class. Can we go over it?”

“Sure,” he says with a pang of disappointment. “Which parts are you having trouble with?”

All of them, it would seem. Gojo sneaks a couple covert glances at the clock, trying to work out whether or not you’re going to run overtime. Office hours technically end at 5:30, but he has the feeling that you’re going to need longer than that.

Shit. He’d planned to meet up with a girl at 6:00. At this rate there’s no way he’ll be able to make it.

“Is something wrong?” you ask, pausing to massage some life back into your cramped wrist. Even from across the table Gojo can see the indent in your middle finger, left there by the constant pressure of your pencil. His own hand twinges in sympathy.

“One sec, I just realized that I forgot to text Suguru back about something.”

He pulls out his phone, drafting a ‘sorry-I-won’t-be-able-to-make-it’ text. Out of the corner of his eye he sees you stretch, tracking the way your shirt catches on the underside of your bra. Suddenly bailing on his plans doesn’t seem like such a bad thing.

“I didn’t think I’d need so much help,” you say, checking the time and wincing when you see how late it is. “I can try and figure out the rest on my own if you need to go.”

Sending the message, Gojo shoves his phone into his pocket and turns his attention back to you. “Don’t worry about it. It’s not like I have anywhere I need to be.”

Hopefully you won’t catch him in a lie by following up with Geto, though maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad thing for you to know he’s prioritizing you over other women.

“Ready to keep going?” he asks, placing a hand on the study guide and spinning around it to face you. You nod, picking up your pencil.

It’s fully dark out by the time the two of you leave the library, a combination of the days growing shorter and the extra hour or so that you’d spent together.

“I’ll walk you home,” Gojo says, holding the door open.

You pause inside the foyer. “Try rephrasing that.”

“Um.” His mind races as he tries to figure out where he went wrong. “…Can I walk you home?”

He half expects you to flat out reject him, but you brush past, slinging your bag over one shoulder. “If you really want to.”

He leaves the door to shut itself, shivering at the sudden drop in temperature. It’s chilly out, a stiff breeze sweeping autumn leaves onto the sidewalk. They crunch under his shoes as he hurries to catch up.

“Thank you for staying late to help me,” you say, hugging yourself to keep your hands warm. Damn, he should’ve brought a jacket. What a missed opportunity— you’d look good draped in one of his coats.

“It’s no problem,” he says. “That’s what I’m here for.”

“Were you working on your Creative Writing homework when I came in?”

The question throws him for a moment, but of course you know about his stupid writing class. He’ll have to ask Suguru about what other information he’s spilled to his advisory chat.

“Yeah. I’m supposed to annotate a poem, but it’s really not my forté.”

“I thought you were good at everything.”

He huffs out a sigh, the cold condensing his breath into a little cloud. “I am, but that doesn’t mean I like everything.”

It’s a long moment before you reply. The wind tosses around the branches overhead, filling up the silence between you. Somewhere in the distance a siren wails.

“Are you doing anything later tonight?” you ask.

Folding his arms behind his head, Gojo spins to face you, walking backwards like a campus tour guide. “Is that your way of asking me out?”

You frown. “What? No. I was just trying to make conversation.”

“Aw, that’s a shame. I would’ve said yes.”

Skirting around a pile of leaves, you readjust your bag, moving it to your other shoulder. “I know you would have. You’re not very subtle, Gojo.”

“What do you mean?” he asks, dropping his arms back to his sides.

You narrow your eyes. “Don’t be coy. You’ve been hitting on me for weeks.”

So you’re aware of it then.

Logically, he’d known that you can’t be that oblivious, but some part of him had been holding out hope that maybe you are. Because the other possibility is that you don’t react because you’re genuinely not affected by him, and that’s uncharted territory. Everyone likes Gojo. Even people who don’t know they like Gojo like Gojo.

Still, he can work with this. The fact that you brought it up might actually make things easier.

“I guess you’ve figured me out, so there’s no point in hiding it.” He pushes his glasses up his forehead, making a show of mustering up his courage. “I really like you, and I want to get to know you better.”

You look past him, focusing on something else. “You’re going to trip on that stick if you keep walking backwards.”

“You’d catch me though, right?”

“Probably not.”

Sighing, he turns to face the path. The stick is there just as you said it would be, and he nearly trips on it anyway.

“Aren’t you going to say you like me too?” he asks once he’s regained his composure.

“Wasn’t planning on it.” You stop to grab the stick, tossing it onto the grass. It lands with a crunch in a drift of leaves. “But it doesn’t really matter either way.”

“It does to me. You’re not even going to give me a chance?”

You reflect on the question, then shake your head. “No. If you were telling the truth maybe I’d consider it, but I doubt you’re really interested in me.”

He frowns. “That’s a little harsh— you should be more confident. Hasn’t anyone ever told you how beautiful you are?”

“Yes. They have. My self esteem isn’t the problem here. I just don’t trust you.”

It’s almost eerie the way you say it, completely devoid of emotion. Had they been delivered in any other way the words would sound accusatory, and yet somehow he can tell you’re not angry.

“But I’m telling the truth. I really do like you.” His gaze meets yours, earnest and pleading. The look is calculated of course, but he’s played this game enough times to know how to fake honesty.

You study him for a moment before turning away, exhaling in what he’s almost positive is a laugh. “Now I know you’re lying. Next time put your glasses on first, your eyes give you away.”

The two of you slow as you approach your dormitory. Your calmness is throwing him off; this isn’t how things are supposed to go. He slips his glasses back over his eyes as the streetlights become more frequent.

“So, what?” he asks, running a hand through his hair. “You think I’m telling you this because I have ulterior motives?”

“Something like that.” Stopping in front of the building, you turn to face him. “Not that I mind. Ulterior motives or not, you stayed late to help me study and I’m grateful for that. I can put up with some flirting if it means you’ll keep helping me, just don’t expect me to reciprocate.”

“And what if I’m being honest?”

“Then I’d tell you not to get your hopes up,” you say, starting up the steps. “Thanks for walking with me— I’ll see you around.”

Gojo waits a moment, watching as you scan your ID and pull open the door. He’s not sure whether or not to count your conversation as a win, still mulling it over as he sets off for his apartment. You’re definitely on to him, but at the same time you don’t seem to mind his advances. There’s only one thing that he’s 100% certain of: that he has a lot of questions for Suguru.

[0theghost0]

Update

Hi hi, everyone. I know it's been a long time. I was actually typing up a message to @prince-infidel because of an ask they sent me, but I realized I should probably just make it a post. So I guess this is an update. Okay, short version: The end of 2022 and the entirety of 2023 was horrible for me. A lot happened, and 97% of it was not good. Now to get into a bit more specifics. While all of this crazy stuff was going on, a friend of mine really needed help with their company. They were just going through a ton, and I jumped on to help them while they were trying to figure that stuff out. Turns out that I was a good fit. So I've completely changed careers currently. Also, with all of this crazy shit going on, I stopped drawing entirely. That's a first for me. No matter what was going on, I always had my drawing as an outlet. It was very new for it to be gone. I actually only recently started drawing again, and when I say recently, I mean last week. I haven't even finished anything and my progress comes in very small doses. Baby steps I guess. Now the stuff you're actually probably interested in. Even though I haven't been drawing, I have been making art. - I've been putting crazy amounts of effort into making costumes. It's really fun and I've level grinded a lot with sewing and fabrics. I made an entire Victorian costume on my own. It was cool. - I weirdly started working on dolls? I have no idea why I started doing that. I hate dolls. - I started making weird... sculptures? I don't know how to describe them. It's basically recycling and turning materials into monstrosities for my own entertainment and to scare random people. - And I've delved more into my hobby of SFX makeup.

I have been being creative, it's just a bunch of stuff that no one cares about. It makes me happy and that's all there is to it really. Which brings me to the long version, because I have no idea how to continue this without going into details. I can only assume all of this answers anyone questions who might be curious. Time to get a bit more specific.

I don't know how to start this, so I guess I'll just say that my interests have completely moved. I think everything above should make that clear, but when I'm referring to interests, I mostly mean the things that inspire me. This is actually typical for me. I love fiction and am a fan of many, many things. I get really involved in a fandom for a while, get bored, then move on to one that is piquing my interest more. Eventually I come back and the cycle starts over. I always keep up with all of my interests simultaneously, it's just that one usually dominates the others. The thing is, comic books have completely lost my interest currently.

There's a lot of factors. I'm not going to repeat stuff that you've probably heard a thousand times from other people about the current state of the comic industry, comic writing, the movies, the video games blah blah blah whine whine whine. I think one of the big things though is that this last year has really changed me. I'm just a really different person now. I'm not that happy-go-lucky nerd I was before. I think my major concern is that I honestly think it would be fucked up if I continued to post here.

People started following me here because of my art and my posts. It would be fucked up to switch that around on them and just show back up as this different person with different art, different interests etc. I've thought about making an update on here a bunch of different times, but I never did because of stuff like that. However, in a way, it's been really nice. It's been nice to just do whatever stupid art project comes into my head, and to do it just for the sake of making something. I think dropping drawing all together (not by choice, mind you) turned out to be good for me. I think I got in tune with a creative side of myself that I'd lost a long time ago. It's been pretty neat.

I've thought about just leaving this tumblr to history. I honestly think that I should. It can be a weird time capsule of this specific fandom in this specific time period. I've thought about just making different social media accounts so that people who want to see any of my new, awful creations could if they wanted to. I don't know though. I'm just all up in the air all the time now lol

I get this isn't an "all questions answered" kinda post. Not that most people needed them, but I know that there are people who just liked my art in general and I knew they must be curious. So I hope I at least answered some stuff and gave some clarity.

[enlitment]

Books tag game time! Thanks @marcusagrippa for the tag ✨

Last book I read: Jean-Jacques Rousseau's Confessions

Confessions... not going to go into it in this post. It's a wild ride for sure. But if you're interested in mental health (issues) in the 1700s, it's a fairly interesting source material.

Book I recommend:

I've recently finished Carlo Ginzuburg's Cheese and Worms. It's an absolute classic! It's also a fairly quick read. I'd recommend it to anyone who's curious to see how modern historical research doesn't have to just be about famous kings or medieval battles (or if you want to read about an unhinged oddly progressive 16th century Italian miller. Menocchio is the best and I adore him!)

Book I couldn't put down:

That usually happens with murder mysteries, since I want to keep reading until I find out what happened. One of them is Umberto Eco's The Name of the Rose (also a classic, and definitely an interesting spin on the genre),

the other is Stuart Turton's The 7 1/2 Deaths of Evelyn Hardcastle. Nothing to do with history but it's so unique and so good! The best way I can describe it is that reading it feels like playing a video game, in the best way possible. It also opens up some interesting philosophical questions at the end. I've been (unsuccessfully) trying to convince my friends to read it for a year now 🙃

Book I've read twice:

I've read a lot of books multiple times for my final high school exams, but the two I know I've read twice for reasons unrelated are Anthony Burgess' A Clockwork Orange (I rant about it any time I get a book ask, so I'll refrain from it here) and George Orwell's 1984 (I was obsessed with it in my early teens for some reason).

There are a lot of books I loved in my teens that I would be curious to read once again, to see if my perception has changed. It did happen for 1984 and Hamlet, so it would be interesting to see if it's the same case for other works as well!

A book on my TBR:

Gosh, so many. But one is Plutarch's Parallel Lives! I'm so curious about it but still haven't gotten around to actually reading it. I've only read short passages so far and I want to fix that! (Though good news is my grandparents actually have a copy in their library so I'll just snatch... um, borrow it at some point)

A book I've put down:

It used to happen quite a lot, but ever since I've started basing my reading on Tumblr... no okay, in all honesty, I've put down C. S. Forester's Hornblower and didn't get back to it for years. Although I love the tv series, I just couldn't get into the book. But I still kind of want to give it a go at some point in the future.

A book on my wishlist:

I've been obsessed with the Introducing Graphic Guides recently and I just want to collect them like Pokemon cards!!

They are very digestible and so, so good! I read one on Rousseau and Machiavelli, I bought one on the Enlightenment which I'm saving as a treat, but I need Žižek as well... and Foucault... and Romanticism...

A favourite book from childhood:

I know there recently was a movie that was... not good, but I loved Philip Reeve's Mortal Engines. It was this sort of steampunk-esque fantasy book which had a really interesting female protagonist. I mean I'm only just now realising how subversive it was that the main heroine was fairly unlikeable and very flawed but still someone you were meant to ultimately root for?

There was also a parallel about social darwinism – the world of the book had cities flying in the skies that were devouring smaller cities, robbing them blind and enslaving their populations. The governments had a flimsy quasi-philosophical justification for all this, but the heroes of the books were fighting against the status quo. Looking back, I still think the series was pretty cool!

A book you would give to a friend:

Recently borrowed Émilie du Châtelet's Discourse on Happiness to my friend after she went through a break-up. I'm hoping É's words of wisdom might help her!

A book of poetry/lyrics you own:

Catullus (a Czech and an English translation) of course!

I've also recently bought Ovid's Letters of Heroines in a second-hand bookshop and I'm looking forward to getting into it.

A non-fiction book you own:

A fair amount of biographies of old white dudes, to the surprise of noone...

but to give a little more interesting answer, I do own all the books by Jon Ronson. He's a British journalist writing about current issues and I find him to be both really funny and really insightful!

His books about the psychiatric industry (The Psychopath Test) and modern-day ostracism (So You've Been Publically Shamed) are especially good and I'd recommend them to everyone!

Currently reading:

Voltaire's biography - Roger Pearon's Voltaire Almighty. It may not be a prefect academic source, but his writing style is great and I'm really enjoying it so far!

I'm also on-and-off with Hilary Mantel's A Place of Greater Safety. I think I'll save it for once I start uni again.

Planning on reading next:

Denis Diderot's The Nun! I'm super curious because it sounds like a really interesting book for understanding sexuality and gender in the enlightenment era.

tagging @chaotic-history @my-deer-friend @theghostofbean and @iron--and--blood ! No pressure of course ✨

[invaders-cookbook]

Invader's Cookbook #4: Crafting, Consumables, Community Assistance.

Warning: this issue of Invader's Cookbook is only for those who have completed the base game. If you're a new player, using advice from this guide may ruin your natural progression path.

Part 1: Community

As you become better at PvP and it becomes more interesting to you, Elden Ring stops being a PvE game with PvP attached to it, and becomes a PvP game with PvE attached to it. And if you do dueling and invading with any regularity, you will discover that certain resources are way more limited than they should be. Which is fine for a PvE playthrough, but in PvP it becomes a detriment to the variety of the things you can do in any given encounter.

For example, starlight shards is an item that gives you enough Focus Points regeneration that allows sorcery builds to rival melee builds in invasion scenarios. There are only a few dozen of them in the entire game without going to NG+ and they are completely unfarmable.

That is why some players opt to simply duplicate their items via reloading their saves and dropping them to their friends. It is not considered cheating, not by the dedicated PvP community and not by From Software either.

There are a bunch of ways to go about acquiring items.

1. Find a person who plays PvP and who has already acquired all the items

Pretty straightforward. If you don't have such a person, shoot a DM to @huggingtentacles she can usually help.

2. r/PatchesEmporium

Patches Emporium is a community on Reddit where you can place a request for certain items, and if you're willing to fulfill someone else's request, you can successfully gain all the items you need.. Typically they will ask you for a "mule". A mule means transferring their items between characters through your character. You simply pick up the items, and give them back to another character they have. In return they might share some stuff you might want.

3. Join a PvP-focused discord community

You can find plenty of them online, Elden Ring PvP is the most popular one. Plenty of streamers on twitch, big and small, also have similar communities.

Part 2: I got the stuff, what now?

Now you probably have enough crafting materials to craft literally every item in the game in ridiculous amounts. Which is good, you will need them for the following items:

1. Boluses

Boluses to cure status effects are the most important, especially Preserving Boluses that help against Scarlet Rot. Make a bunch of them.

2. Uplifting Aromatics

Finally you can use those perfume bottles for something! Having up to 10 is quite strong. It makes you take 90% less damage on your next hit, as well as gives you a noticeable damage boost. Very important to cross places where you might get ambushed around the corner. You can also use this aromatic to buff mobs in the area!

3. Greases

You can only use greases on weapons with physical affinities: Keen, Heavy, Quality and Standard. Now you are able to replace regular greases with Drawstring Grease, which does significantly more damage, albeit it lasts for a shorter period of time. You can use it quickly mid-combat, highly recommend

4. Everything else

Dried livers, various Pots Cured Meat, Exalted Flesh, Bolts, Arrows, Pickled Turtle Necks, Throwing Daggers, Warming Stones. All of these amazing items are important to use in most PvP activities. Learn to utilise them to their fullest potential.

Part 3: And what about making builds faster?

Through other players you can also acquire weapons and runes. However, you can't acquire weapons that are higher level than the one you have already upgraded on your character. You'll have to upgrade a weapon to a certain level if you want someone to drop you weapons of that level.

A typical fast playthrough to meta level 125-137 would be getting a +10 somber weapon as fast as possible, and then having every other item dropped from another player, then finishing the playthrough with all of that stuff and the appropriate level using the infinite runes you got. (Do you see why I don't recommend this to first time playthroughs? Don't ruin your experience.)

Closing Thoughts

One aspect of Elden Ring PvP that's rarely talked about is how the developers never quite anticipated the amount of PvP some people do. Some items are simply too ridiculous to farm for PvP purposes. Imagine having to farm for half an hour only to waste all of that in one single invasion! Some builds like sorcery simply shoot themselves in the foot by not having vital things like starlight shards.

It's not all bad though. After all, trading items and helping eachother makes for a more meaningful community interaction among players, even if it's purely transactional. In fact, I met many cool players through trading favours like that, and I hope you will as well.

Aren't sure about talking to strangers to get Elden Ring items? Try talking to @huggingtentacles she is always happy to help out new invaders!

[tauforged]

do you have any tips for someone who wants to get into warframe for the first time?

- don’t start with the duviri/drifter quest when given the option. it’s cool, don’t get me wrong, but it will be very confusing and you won’t revisit any of the stuff that’s touched upon until way way later in the game. start off in the origin system, the story progresses a lot more naturally from that start point. i don’t really know why they made this an option.

- you dont HAVE to buy platinum. they start you off with like 50 i think? it’s not necessary for anything aside from buying additional warframe/weapon slots. everything else is cosmetic or optional. you can get mroe plat later on by trading with other players (if you do want to buy plat for cosmetics or whatever, i recommend waiting until you get a discount as your daily login bonus. iirc they range from 25, 50, or 75% off. they’re pretty much entirely random though so don’t feel obligated to use one if you do get it and don’t need plat at the moment so it goes to waste. you’ll get another)

- even if you decide you don’t like a weapon you end up crafting, you’ll be better off if you level it up to the maximum rank (30) before selling it rather than trashing it outright, that way you won’t have to go back and get it again later on in the game in order to complete it. the more stuff you level in full, the faster you progress through mastery ranks, and some stuff is mastery rank locked so you’re gonna wanna pay attention to your progress.

- you’re gonna wanna join a clan as soon as possible. you can find some via the recruiting channel, or probably by asking around on social media, idk. i started my own (not recommended unless you’ve got a group of friends you can rally or feel like recruiting to fill out your ranks in order to actually get stuff done) so i don’t really know what the clan recruiting scene looks like. having access to a clan dojo makes life a lot easier (and can make finding people to play with less of a hassle too)

- the story itself doesn’t really pick up steam until you start the ‘natah’ quest. in between the start and there, you’ll mostly be doing a lot of running around trying to familiarize yourself with the setting and playing catch-up. don’t worry too much about all the stuff they throw at you all at once. almost all the quests are replayable through your codex if you ever want to refresh your memory, and for those that aren’t, the wiki is… usually a pretty decent source as far as summaries go. i’d take it with a grain of salt though.

- this one especially tripped my sister up so i’m gonna touch on it: you’re going to be required to do the ‘heart of deimos’ quest in order to progress past mars on the star chart. IMHO, this quest REALLY should not be mandatory so early on in the game — you aren’t going to be able to make heads or tails of anything anyone is telling you. don’t be afraid to breeze thru it w/o paying much attention and circle back around later in the game, preferably sometime after you finish the war within or at LEAST the second dream. i genuinely don’t know why they’re throwing baby tenno to the wolves on this one. just know it’ll all make sense later i prommy

- don’t worry too much about the open world areas like the orb vallis, the plains of eidolon, or the cambion drift at first. they’re very cool (and you’ll be introduced to them via their respective quests) but they can be overwhelming to new players and the difficulty spike might be frustrating, especially before you’ve unlocked a majority of the tools available to you.

- this game has been ongoing for over ten years at this point - there’s a LOT going on. take your time progressing at a comfortable pace. don’t be afraid to ask around for help if you’re stuck on something or getting frustrated trying to farm a specific part or material.

- if people try to talk down on you for being a lower mastery rank or w/e they’re literally just being an asshole. MR isn’t indicative of skill so much as it is a representation of how much gear you’ve leveled, which is basically just an indicator of how much time you’ve spent playing - a chimp smacking a keyboard can feasibly hit legendary after enough attempts. you’re fine. hell, i’ve been here since 2013 and i’m only MR 19 LMAO

- the ‘meta’ for this game is wildly subjective due to the vast customizability of builds. take everyone’s opinions with several grains of salt and don’t be afraid to experiment on your own to see what works for you

- dont read general chat. it’s not worth it. nobody in there is as funny as they think they are

- the most important part of being a tenno is having fun and being yourself :)

[twistedchristianscience]

forgot to post about him here BUT I finished my silly little Vashraptor fursuit just before Emerald City Comic Con (and Vancoufur)

except he's not actually "finished", just finished enough for me to wear him to those cons for a bit. he still needs a few more details, namely feetpaws, the stitches on his torso, a more raptor-like hand for his prosthetic, and claws. plus I'm not totally happy with his ears so I might redo them. I'll make legs and different prosthetics eventually, but that probably won't be for a while.

as per usual of raptors, he looks pretty silly at any angle other than side profiles, so its a little difficult to get good photos while im actually wearing him.

more ramblings + WIP shots under the cut because this was the most complicated project ive ever done and im insane

so far, he's taken about $700 worth of materials and 150 hours but I'll make another post with updated numbers when he's fully finished.

the headbase is made of EVA foam, with a hinge from WeaselsOnEasels (covered with that pink fabric because I accidentally put it on the inside, rip) and 40 teeth from DreamVisionCreations. the eyes and antorbital fenestrae have .5mm computer fan pvc mesh-- his vision and ventilation are fantastic, rivaling my suit with a 3d printed base, but fine details like writing and text are lost as per usual with vision meshes (that's not normally much of a problem for me with the furry conventions I go to annually and know the layout of, but it made navigating ECCC a nightmare since ive never been before and the venue is HUGE. I imagine ill have the same struggles if I go to sakuracon-- anyone wanna be my handler for that? lol). the unfurred section is coated with Plastidip and spraypainted dark brown. most of his mane is zippered on both sides so I can remove it and make interchangable versions (I plan to make spiked-up hair in yellow, half yellow/black, and fully black) while the tip of it is magnetic so it lies flat against the base. his tongue is also magnetic. I was originally going to make magnetic eyelids, but in all honesty, I might prefer to make them velcro as they tend to be easier to adjust + more secure than magnetic ones.

the part I hated making the most was his tail, not because it's bad, but because when I was almost done with it my dog got to it and chewed it apart.

you can see there's an awkward little bump along the top near where the light yellow and black fur connect-- when im wearing the tail that bump makes it look broken. but since he's so mangled anyway it can just be considered part of his design since I didn't add any scars to it

the tail feathers were a bit of a nightmare to make but the progress shots are cool

the part I loved making the most, and that im most proud of, is the bodysuit. I thought the scars were going to be a nightmare to sew, but they were actually the most fun and I love how they turned out!! he will be getting an interchangable mane down his back as well but I didn't have the time to finish it. I might also extend the shoulders a little for a better fit, particularly the left as theres a noticeable gap between the suit and the prosthetic as it is.

I showed this video of the pattern to a friend at When Furballs Strike a few weeks back and she told me I was insane. she is correct, and I'm fairly sure me actually finishing the bodysuit in a week only proves it further. but I did it anyway, and I had fun doing it.

Fur used: Yellow (Hair/Mane, Tail Feathers): HowlFabric Buttercup Luxury Shag Light Yellow (Main Body/Face): MofuMofu Mi Yellow Long Fur White (Neck, Top Surgery Scars, Tail): BigZFabric White Short Shag Brown (Ears, Tail Feathers): HowlFabric Fossil Grey Luxury Teddy Black (Arm, Tail): HowlFabric Natural Black Luxury Teddy Scars: HowlFabric Salmon Minky Tongue: HowlFabric Banana Minky Inner Mouth: HowlFabric Vanilla Minky Inner Ears: BigZFabric White Minky

note about the mofumofu fur: it's pretty thin, if you trim too much you can see the backing through it. HOWEVER. this proved to be a positive for the bodysuit, as it's MUCH more breathable than thicker furs like howl's and bigz's. (for the one day I could make it to ECCC and two days of Vancoufur, I wore this suit for 10-12 hours straight with a sweatshirt underneath and never felt like I was overheating, the minky scars most likely helped with it but STILL??) it also doesn't get as matted. whether or not it's worth the $55/yd price depends on what you need it for, if it's within your price range and you're particularly sensitive to heat, I'd say go for it. I only needed a yard for this as I'm kindof a little guy (5'5", 120lbs) so it was worth it for me.

[shadowisles-writes]

Peer Pressure (Part 1) [Elucien]

I don’t usually give into peer pressure

But I’ll give into yours

A/N: Here is my contribution to the first part of the third writing circle. A massive thank you to everyone participating, this is the biggest one yet and we have more ships than ever. You can find everyone’s work in this masterlist, make sure to go show some love!

Big thank you to @headcanonheadcase for listening to all my thoughts and for the beta on this <3

Word count: 3117

Read on AO3

.

Elain sprayed 70% ethanol into her biosafety hood and wiped it clean from right to left. No one had used it since she did earlier this morning, but you could never clean too much in a cell culture room. The air flow had been on for over five minutes, progressively filtering the air inside the hood so that she could start working without risking contaminating her cultures.

A water bath set to 37°C warmed her solutions while she began filling the hood with material. Pipettes, tips and petri dishes all got sprayed with ethanol before finding their place on the metal. Elain hummed to herself as she worked, she’d done this a hundred times and barely needed to think.

Clean to the right, dirty to the left. It was the policy in her university’s lab. Technically, everyone cleaned the hood before and after using it, but in the interest of sanity (nothing made Elain more crazy than someone’s sloppy work resulting in contamination in her experiments) they all placed their clean material to the right, and anything that was used and to be discarded moved to the left.

Human cells were kept at 37°C in the incubator to her right. The HeLa cell line came from a woman named Henrietta Lacks, someone Elain made sure her interns remembered as she never got the credit she deserved. After being diagnosed with cancer in the 1950s, the immortal cells from Henrietta’s tumor were taken and kept by researchers, without her knowledge or consent of course.

It had been legal at the time, but Elain—and every biologist she knew—still thought it was awful. Yet, they had been used over and over in medical research, and after so many years Elain had no better model for her experiments than this immortal cell line.

They required a bit of maintenance, but after a year of working with them Elain could practically do that in her sleep. She ran through the motions of a passage in no time and placed her new petri dishes on her shelf in the incubator.

Everything that was single use and had touched cells under the hood got discarded in the autoclave bag, and Elain quickly finished cleaning up after herself. Out of the room and with her gloves off, she finally got the chance to check the time on her phone.

It was still the middle of the afternoon, but there was only so much work she could do in the lab. This had been the last task Elain could think of before she was forced to get back to the small office she shared with a couple of other students to sit in front of her laptop. Now, she had no other choice but to work on analyzing her data.

The office was exceedingly gray apart from a few pictures she and the other girls had stuck on the wall in front of their desks. It was no surprise they would rather sit anywhere else on campus, and usually Elain did too, but this time she couldn’t afford a distraction.

It took all of her focus and three youtube videos for her to give up on statistics and bury her face in her hands. Why in the world had she avoided statistics after the second year of her undergrad? She remembered next to nothing about basic statistics, and what she could recall wasn’t even relevant to what she had to do for her current dataset. She was going to have to teach herself how to do this, and it was going to be painful.

Elain could always, of course, ask her supervisor. She just didn’t want to deal with the embarrassment of announcing she wasn’t capable of doing her own statistics because she’d been too lazy to take an advanced class during her undergrad.

The two girls she shared the office with would be no help, one was in the last year of her PhD and always hiding in the library to finish writing her thesis while the other was in her third year and always running around the lab to run as many experiments as she could. Neither had time to help her, or even liked statistics to begin with. No one became a biologist to analyze data, it was all about the lab work.

It was only then that it struck her. Some insane people did become biologists for the data, and she knew of exactly one in this department. While everyone else spent the majority of their time in the lab and made plans to hang out while they were there, Lucien Vanserra was somewhat excluded as he analyzed metaproteomics data.

He wasn’t the friendliest man Elain had ever met, he had his own office and was always hiding in there, but he’d been kind the few times they had interacted. He was the only person who might have the time and skill to help her.

Closing her laptop, Elain pushed her chair back and made her way down the corridor to find him. Lucien’s office was a mirror of hers a few doors down. The only reason he didn’t have to share it was that no one else became a biologist to spend the five years of their PhD running numbers.

“Hi,” she popped her head in after knocking. “Do you have a minute?”

“Sure,” Lucien pushed his chair back slightly to angle himself towards her and hid the tabs he was working on.

Somehow, Elain was too stuck remembering how handsome he was to get inside and speak. His office was just as gray and sad as hers, but his red hair was so pretty it filled the room with color. Russet eyes remained trained on her, just a shade lighter than his brown, flawless skin. His cheekbones were defined without making his face angular, though his jawline was something straight out of a magazine.

Elain was staring at his full, perfect lips when he awkwardly cleared his throat and she remembered what she was here for.

“Right,” she stepped in to let the door fall shut and helped herself to one of the free chairs to sit beside him. “I’m just starting to analyze some of my data, and I was hoping you could give me a hand with statistics, if you have the time.”

“Well, I don’t know how much data you have but I can probably help.” Lucien moved his keyboard to the side and pushed his monitor back slightly to make space for her laptop.

“Thank you so much. I guess it’s not much compared to what you’re used to,” Elain typed in her password and let him look at her excel file. “But I’ve never had to do this before, so I’m lost.”

He hummed to acknowledge he heard her, but his eyes were already scanning the numbers, figuring out how she built her table and how many variables she had before he looked at her again. “What am I looking at exactly?”

“That’s the data from my immunofluorescence,” Elain let him scroll through the rest of the table. “Basically, I did different treatments on my cells, then I fixed them on a slide and added a primary antibody to detect the protein I’m interested in. My secondary antibody is fluorescent, it detects the primary, so the intensity of the fluorescence detected by the microscope correlates to the concentration of my target protein.”

“Alright, so that’s your intensity,” he used the mousepad to point to some numbers. “And that’s your treatments? And you’ve already built some graphs?” He switched between the pages to look at them.

“Yeah, I know which treatment increases the protein concentration the most,” Elain had made the graphs pretty, adjusting the colors so that they’d fit the theme of the poster she was meant to present at a conference in just a few weeks. “But I don’t know if any of it is significant.”

“Right. So you need me to tell you which tests to run?”

Lucien looked at her like it was obvious—which it probably was to him. Her cheeks flushed, though she at least knew the answer to that after her reading and the videos she’d watched.

“No, I read up on that, tried to revive some memories from second year biostatistics. What I’m struggling with is R.” Just speaking the name of the program was enough to make her cringe. R was the most widely used program for statistics, and yet she had no idea how to do anything with it.

It was all it took for Lucien to pinpoint her problem. “You can’t code.”

“I can’t code.” Elain confirmed. “I’d really appreciate it if you could show me just for one dataset, and then I’ll use that as a template for the rest by myself.”

“It shouldn’t be too long, we could do it now,” Lucien agreed, emailing himself her file so that he could open it on his own computer. “You’ve used R before, right?”

“I used SPSS,” Elain made a face that told Lucien everything else he needed to know.

A class on R was enough to know how to run basic tests, it introduced just enough coding for it to make sense, but SPSS didn’t make you code for anything. If that was all she had ever used, she wouldn’t even know how to import her data into R.

“Alright, it might take longer than I thought,” Lucien said. “Maybe we can take some time tomorrow? I have a meeting in the morning and I need to finish a quick presentation for it. I could help you after lunch, if that works for you.”

“Yes, of course, whatever’s best for you.” Elain promptly nodded and reached for her laptop to get out of his hair. “Thank you so much Lucien.”

“Happy to help.”

.

Lucien took the next afternoon to help her, and the next, and the next. By Thursday, Elain’s brain had melted into a pile of goo and she was sure Lucien had to be sick of her. On top of everything he had shown her, she had spent her mornings trying to understand the next steps by herself only to find herself inevitably stuck.

“Fuck this,” Elain swore, dropping her head to her desk. She let out a loud groan to calm down, then straightened her back, took a deep breath and went back to staring at her screen. She deflated like a balloon on her exhale, the jumble of lines of codes making no more sense to her than it had in the past hour.

A knock came on her door, and Elain prayed it was someone coming to crash in her office to procrastinate so she could use it as an excuse to stop working. Lucien opened the door instead, an easy smile on his face.

“Hey, do you need me today?”

“Yes please,” Elain didn’t hesitate to say. He walked right in and stole a chair to sit beside her. “You’re an angel.”

“It’s no big deal,” Lucien ducked his head, a couple of strands of hair falling in his face. The rest was held back by a claw clip, and Elain thought of how unfair it was that every style suited him so well when she typically hated men with hair this long. “It’s this one, isn’t it?” Lucien pointed to one of the lines he had added to her code yesterday.

“Yes,” Elain sighed and tore her eyes away from him to focus. “I’ve been losing my mind for an hour, I think.”

“When we’re done you need to go get fresh air or do something fun, no one learning how to do this can do it all at once,” Lucien reached for the laptop, and Elain pushed it toward him.

“Well lucky for me there’s a party downstairs tonight with some dangerously cheap tequila.”

On campus parties organized by the science departments were very… unique. The space they had for it was large, but there were never enough students to fill it, which always made things awkward. Pair that with a student’s spotify staying open on a laptop for anyone to add songs to as the main source of music and it wasn’t hard to imagine how much anyone would cringe on a night like this.

Luckily, undergrads were just there to fill the space and grad students stuck together to drink and forget their work without having to go through the effort of dragging themselves to a bar or club. Elain had been roped in at the start of her first year, and she rarely missed those occasions anymore.

“Ah, sounds fun.” Lucien’s voice came out flat, his lie obvious.

“Are you coming?” Elain tried anyway. She’d been wrong in thinking he wasn’t friendly before she asked him for help, Lucien was lovely and easy to be around, and she was sure the only reason he was always working by himself was that no one else ever remembered to invite him.

“I don’t think so.”

“Why not?” Elain pressed, pushing her laptop back so he couldn’t use it as a crutch? “You should,”

Lucien sighed and looked at her. “There’s always a weird theme, I’m not dressed for it.” The sanitized excuse would have worked on anyone else, but she wasn’t ready to give up.

“Neither am I, for now.” Elain was in a plain pastel pink t-shirt and light blue jeans. Nothing about it screamed themed party, but she’d make it work. “I brought accessories, and you don’t need to fit the theme to come.”

Surely he knew that last part. Except… maybe he didn’t, and Elain gasped before she spoke again. “Lucien. Have you never been to any of these?”

“Guess not,”

“You’re in your third year!” She exclaimed. “How is that even possible?”

A shrug, then a helpless look towards Elain’s laptop as if the lines of code on the screen could save him. “I’m not that close with everyone else in the labs.”

“Well, neither was I until my first campus party.” Elain reasoned, toning her excitement down to plead with him. “Please come, I’ll be there, and it’ll be fun.”

Lucien, like the responsible man he was, pulled her work back within comfortable reach so they could get to the end of it. “We can finish this, and then I’ll think about it.”

“How much thinking will you need?”

“You’re not going to focus until I say yes, are you?” Lucien gave her a look, his head tilted as he read the expressions on her face. Elain kept her mouth shut and bit back a smile, her eyes full of hope. “Fine,” he caved too easily. “What’s the theme this time?”

“Tropical. I have hair pins with seashells on them and I bought this coconut shaped cup,” Elain opened one of her drawers. “Lucky for you, it came with a matching pineapple.”

“Of course it did.”

.

A very unproductive work session later, Lucien had fully given in for the party and Elain was rummaging through her things to accessorize them both. In an effort to get in the mood, Lucien was already sipping water from his pineapple and he’d stuck one of the seashell bobby pins in his hair.

“We can do better than that,” Elain’s curls had been pulled back slightly, uncovering her face, and it was now time for her to focus on Lucien’s hair. “Can I braid your hair?”

“Does it look like I know how to say no to you?” He lifted his pineapple and earned a grin.

“I’ll be quick.” Elain promised as she took the claw clip out of his hair.

Long strands of red hair cascaded down his back. What she guessed was usually straight, maybe slightly wavy, was now stuck in the shape it’d be held in all day. She brushed it gently, but it was barely tangled. Whatever products he used on his hair, they were perfect for him.

“Tell me if I pull too hard,” Elain parted a few strands near his temple and made quick work of braiding toward the back of his head.

Lucien didn’t say a word as she worked, closing his eyes and letting her use hair ties and pins until she was satisfied. Her fingers were used to the motions, she had grown up with two sisters and while they weren’t close anymore, there was a time when the three of them would spend the entire afternoon braiding each other’s hair in complicated updos.

“There,” Elain tucked the last strand away with her last seashell pin. “No more excuses, you fit the theme now.”

“Thank you,” Lucien opened his phone’s camera to check her work, and he could find no flaw in it.

He would have never done something like this himself—the style was more feminine than what he was used to—but it looked beautiful.

“Where are the girls from your office?”

“They’re not coming,” Elain applied a quick layer of pink lip gloss. “Emily is too busy finishing her thesis, and Mara is always with her boyfriend when she’s not in the lab.”

“Do you have one?” Lucien asked, making her frown.

“One what?”

“Boyfriend—or girlfriend, I guess,” he got up from his chair and busied himself with twirling the straw of his pineapple cup.

The coconut looked ridiculous in Elain’s hands, it was too big for her to comfortably hold in one hand, and the pineapple was a little bigger. Somehow, Lucien’s hands still dwarfed it.

“No,” Elain looked away from his hands and shrugged. “What about you?” She added innocently, as if she wasn’t burning to know if he had a girlfriend. It also wouldn’t shock her if Lucien was far too handsome and smart to be straight.

“No girlfriend,” he provided simply before he switched the subject. “Where’s everyone else?”

“They went out to get food. You’d know if you ever checked the group,” Elain waved the messenger chat in front of him. “You’ve been in it for ages, you know?”

“I might have muted that,” Lucien looked almost apologetic. Truth was he didn’t feel included whenever they invited everyone for plans and the more he waited to show up, the less welcome he felt.

“Fair enough, it gets annoying.” She moved on to grab her office keys, slipped her phone in her back pocket and grabbed her coconut. “Ready? There should be enough people now that it won’t be awkward,”

“Isn’t awkward the point of this whole thing?”

“Just be patient, it’ll be great when the alcohol kicks in.” Elain seemed to be buzzing now, the excitement of the party starting to show.

“This is going to be a disaster,” Lucien stepped out of the office first.

Elain only grinned. “Exactly.”

.

Please reblog and let me know your thoughts &lt;3

[attollogame]

OC Kiss Week 5—Soothing

Vasilisa—Soothing(1.3k; NSFW continued on Patreon later today)

Murderers blocking date nights, par usual

“It isn’t him.”

You don’t need to look over at Vasilisa to know that her expression drops at those words. The informant carelessly drops the picture back down onto the table and grimaces. At least he has the heart to look sympathetic about it all, despite just telling Vasilisa that the lead she’s been working with is nothing short of bullshit. “I wish I could tell you otherwise, but yeah. He was at High Tower when you said this happened, and this is by Lacheln. His powers aren’t teleportation—as you know..” 

“Fuck,” Vasilisa breathes, picking up the picture and pocketing it again. Recently, you’ve been swept up in accompanying her to hunt down a hematokinetic gone rogue who’s been making a name for themselves with a series of rather grim killings the past few months. You know that murder is a pretty awful thing, but you didn’t realize that murder via superpowers could be so much worse. 

Not that you’ve been privy to all of the gory details, of course. You’ve been tagging along as an unofficial ‘analyst’, according to Vasilisa, because your perspective as an outsider might be useful. You’ve even got a little card on a lanyard to boot. 

“I could ask around the Under City and see if anyone has heard anything else about this person?” The informant shoves his hands into his pockets before casting a glance over his shoulder. He’s been talking to you both longer than usual, and it seems like this is starting to make him antsy. 

Vasilisa nods before pulling out her phone. “That’s fine. I’ll have the department send you over your pay for the information you’ve given so far, and if you dig up anything in the Under City that we can use, then just give me a call.” 

At this, the informant turns and begins walking back around the corner of the restaurant alley you’ve all decided to meet in. The smell of cooking oil and fries is making your stomach ache, and you glance wistfully at the restaurant's doors before looking back to Vasilisa. “What now?” 

“What now, indeed,” she mumbles, pocketing her phone again before gesturing for you to follow. The two of you both leave the alley after enough time has passed to ensure that the informant is far out of sight, lest someone be watching the exchange. She doesn’t give you a direct answer the entire time you’re walking, instead letting a weighted silence hang over you both as she retains a troubled look. 

It’s when you finally get back into the car that you decide enough is enough. 

“Lis,” you begin, and she sucks in a breath before leaning back against her seat. “I know this is shitty,”

“That doesn’t even begin to cover this. I have to go back and reevaluate everything that I have to figure out who it could possibly be next. It was a juvenile mistake to pin so much hope onto one person.” She rubs her face with her hands before dropping them to her lap and staring woefully through the windshield ahead. “Fuck me.” 

You chew the inside of your cheek a bit before reaching out and brushing a few stray hairs away from her cheek. You can tell by the flush on her neck just how frustrated she’s feeling about going back to base one, but this also isn’t necessarily the first time she’s needed to do so. “You’ve hit roadblocks like this before, yeah? And you’ve worked through them. I mean, just look at The Atlas Killer. You’re making more progress on that than anyone else who’s worked on the case for a decade.”

“That’s because there was already pre-existing material on him.” She shifts in her seat to face you with a skeptical look. “The people who worked on it before it was shunted onto me already almost had a full profile of him.” 

“But you were the one that finished that profile, no? And the one he’s currently contacting, which means you have him on an edge, no?” You nod your head with each comment as Vasilisa bites her lip. “This is just a small hiccup. Go back, look at the database to see who’s a hematokinetic or whatever, and start from there.” 

You actually have no idea how any of the investigations in Attollo work, but you feel like what you said was pretty close to being on the money. Vasilisa looks back towards the windshield with a frown, and in response, you reach out to cup her cheek, gently urging her to look back your way. “Lis.”

“Yes?” She grumbles, leaning into your touch with her brow still furrowed. You can’t help but admire her passion about the work—a passion that extends into other aspects of her life as well, if you have anything to say about it. You lean in and capture her lips in a light kiss, more one of reassurance than anything else. Then you withdraw enough to rest your forehead against hers as you sigh. 

“I’d say call it a night, but I already have a feeling you’re heading back to get started on this right away, yeah?” 

Vasilisa hums as she leans in to steal another kiss from you. You taste the faint flavor of coffee on her lips—likely from Ruthie's, which she’s been pounding back like shots for the entire day—before she shifts and presses her forehead against your shoulder. 

“Will you hate me if I say yes?” Although it comes out mildly muffled by your coat, you do catch hints of the apologetic tone she’s using. The two of you haven’t really had enough time to be alone together, with her constantly running around trying to clean everyone else’s messes up, and you trying to stabilize yourself in this city—a feat in itself, truly. Despite your understanding of the circumstances, there is a lingering ache of want in you that’s hard to ignore when you’re this close to each other, alone, with heightened emotions already present. 

Still, you let out a chuckle at her comment, causing her to pull back and look at you with a frown. “Why would I hate you for doing your job? Some guy’s out there killing people, and we have no idea why. I can’t be mad at you for trying to put an end to that.” 

Vasilisa taps her fingers on her thigh as she continues to stare at you, before her eyes narrow slightly as she seems to lock on to some idea. “Are you doing anything tonight?” 

Tonight? “How late tonight are we talking?” 

“Past ten. Maybe closer to ten thirty.” She replies, leaning back again to start up the car. You appreciate the blast of warmth—and 80’s pop music, a staple of Attollo—that accompanies this gesture as curiosity encroaches on your thoughts. 

“Mm, not really, no. Why?” 

“Do you still have the spare key to my place?” 

Oh. Oh. You do like where this suggestion is going, and you can’t help but let a sly smile curl itself on your lips as you look at her. “Ms. Solovieva, what exactly are you suggesting here?” 

Vasilisa snorts as she pulls out of the parking spot and back onto the road, likely to drop you off before heading back to work. “Nothing at all. I’m simply saying that I will be leaving work around ten, which means I’ll be back at home. At ten thirty. With the rest of the night free. And a really great need to de-stress somehow.” 

She gives you a side eye, which you return with one of your own as an unspoken understanding passes between you both. De-stressing, yes. You are very very skilled at helping her do that, indeed. You chuckle again at the coy way this arrangement was made before leaning back in your seat and looking to the road ahead. 

“I’ll pick up stuff for breakfast, then.”

[zarvasace]

PROGRESS POST

(12/18/23)

If you're interested in what I've done recently, the state of my projects, and what I plan on doing in the new year, read on! :)

By Fandom

Linked Universe Projects

Shatterproof: I have more backstories cooking, and a half-finished fic or two, but that's about it. I plan on updating a story at least once before January

Council (1931 AU): backburner, haven't really had inspiration. Still on my radar though, and it spins through my head on occasion!

Marvelous Misadventures: been plucking away at this! I recently had an epiphany regarding the next part of the plot, so hopefully that gets me more excited to work on it

Considering expanding the coloring pages I made into a whole series, that could be cool

Misc stuff includes a couple half-abandoned oneshots, a few drawing ideas, and a major art project that probably won't happen because I'm trying not to burn myself out 😅

Four Swords Projects

Fairytale AU: recently gained fire for this again. Reread and organized all my existing material, edited the outline, and I desperately want to finish it soon. Hesitantly scheduling for before the new year. Draft currently maybe about 30% of the way, at 8k.

Isekai AU: I don't think I've mentioned this to anyone outside discord, but ta da I'm deep in this. I'm probably 90% done, about 30k. This will be a Christmas fic, I hope!!

Vampire lords AU: rambly vampire plot is going. Somewhat slowly. I've been trying to not overload myself with too much, so this has been demoted slightly. :) Bite fics happen spontaneously, though, and there might be another coming.

Rinthia AU: my original world, the one seen in Nothing New Under the Sun. This is kind of a passing thought, definitely in planning stages, but I would kind of like to expand this—see where the other characters are, give y'all some answers, because the answers are there

Non-fandom

I want to do more traditional art, graphite and watercolors mostly, and that usually means using photos or life instead of fandom stuff. Makes it a bit less exciting, but maybe I can find a way of doing that. I miss my lil oil paint studio area but I can work with what I have

I'm crafting a few Christmas presents instead of buying them because I do not have much money. That is something I need to spend like, this next week doing

Sanderson merch: I have a goal of getting a booth at Dragonsteel next December, and selling some small souvenir stuff. My plans involve making more pins (I ordered a couple already, and they're very nice), drawing some coloring pages, and maybe advertising here a little once I actually have some stuff I'm proud of up. This will ideally take a year to get together, though, so no rush.

By Month

November

I spent most of November working on The Worst Thing About Earth, kind of an impulse fic that spiraled out of control. I think I burned myself out a little on this, so I've been taking it slowly. Trying to, anyway.

December

So far, I've mostly worked on holiday gift exchanges and some backburner stuff. Like I said, I've been taking it kind of gently. I plan on finishing the FS isekai AU this month, and getting most of the way through the fairytale AU. Getting those off my plate will free me up to think about other things, I think. I also plan on maybe one more bite fic and one more LU disability AU thing before the new year.

January On

I'm not sure what the next month will bring! Ideally, I'll be wrapping up the fairytale AU and intermittently posting a few little things. I'm hoping to return to a couple of my older projects soon, mostly Marvelous Misadventures, because I've left that thing unfinished for LONG ENOUGH.

This next year, I want to try to devote more time to doing things for myself that aren't fandom things. I'd like to reread Stormlight Archive before #5 comes out in December, play more video games, and do more painting. I would like to establish a better habit of making and eating food. I want to play board games a little more often.

Still, the muse can be fickle, and as you probably know by now, I am very good at chasing my inspiration!!

[wuxiaphoenix]

On Writing: Finding the End

I’ll start this with a caveat: different writing advice works for different people. Most people know about the plotter vs. pantser split, but another useful division is methodological (you have a plan!) vs. intuitive (Plan? What plan?)

(My roommate and I have annoyed each other for years trying to trade writing advice. Turns out she’s an intuitive plotter while I’m a methodological pantser. Our ways of getting Story out of Brain and down into Words are completely different. Now we just toss “this is interesting reference material” at each other.)

If you saw methodological and thought neat and organized... hahaha no. For me a book in progress is an explosion in a reference library; accumulated books, papers, internet snippets, scribbled notes and of course the draft-in-progress. Some bits of which I’m usually loosely editing even as I’m writing other bits.

Instead, methodological means I have a more-or-less set strategy for how to write, what tools I need to keep the plotbunnies from whining (Bic Crystal pens fit my grip best), and specifically, what parts of the story I have to have figured out before I start writing the story, or the whole thing’s going to spin out dramatically and leave me in a fiery, bruised pile of a writer with Unfinished Fic.

...Yeah, that hurts.

So. What I need is first, a good idea of the setting. Second, a good grasp on the characters, both heroes and villains. Third, a beginning scene of Shiny. How do I kick this adventure off? Last, and critically important, I need an End Scene. Heroes vs. Bad Guys. What does the final clash look like?

This end scene doesn’t have to be exact. I even came up with a final scene for Colors and wrote most of it before realizing said End Scene actually belonged in a much later story; while a fight scene before it was the real Final Battle of the book.

(Also note that these are not foolproof. I have end scenes for Track of the Apocalypse and scene ideas for a follow-up, but writing ran headlong into traumatic RL events and it jammed. I want to finish it, but my brain just won’t until I get some more stability into my life. Bleeping inflation....)

Right now, as I hack my way through filling in holes in Colors, I’m trying to figure out what would be the best end scene for Druid vs. Zombies. I’ve got a dungeon maze, a demonic sword (I think), an angry necromancer, a lot of zombies, and a rag-tag party including the Druid who mostly aren’t really fighters.

They’re just the only ones the quarrytown has who can try.

I think part of what I’m stuck on is the tone of the story. The original inspiration was partly Scooby-Doo (“and I would have gotten away with it, too - if it weren’t for you peasants and that druid!”)

But, zombies; and not as friendly as those on Zombie Island. Plus Resident Evil 2 vibes; characters in sudden zpoc trying to survive. So fighting the necromancer has to be more serious.

The classic would be going down into the maze to face off with the necromancer before he can grab the Evil Artifact. But our heroes know they’re outmatched. Go into a dungeon maze filled with traps, monsters, and now necromancer-led zombies? That has bad idea written all over it.

So... I need to know if they think the necromancer has to come out the way he came in, or if they have reason to believe he can just teleport out when he grabs what he wants. Hmm...

[padmeanddorme]

Rewatching the Star Wars Movies Part 1!

and now I notice the little details seeing as I am older!

Damn I hope there do be no typos in this rant I spent so much time and energy on….

So:

A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away….

I watched Star Wars the Phantom Menace again- one of my favourite movies of all time! And I realised that I could notice more details than usual and reflect on the meaning of particular scenes this time around!

- Padmé’s first ever entrance proves she is all business, is a fashionista and is a powerful woman who will not let any force of evil ruin innocent people’s lives

- I am so amazed that I am able to tell the difference between Sabé and Padmé now! I really want Keira Knightly to return as Padmé. Perhaps this is far-fetched- but in the Ahsoka series?!

- Otoh Gunga- the long shots of Obi and Qui swimming after Jar Jar towards the glowing Cory is gorgeous- but I wonder- how long did the city take to build? And how did they get all the resources down there? Why are the outside materials not rusting??!

- The way Obi-wan walks with his large robe sleeves makes him look so cute and tiny

- Ric Olié is such a dedicated, skilled pilot- I love how he is like Ani’s first mentor who teaches him the terms of the cockpit

- Obi-wan and his tendency to be like “picked up another pathetic life form” is 😂

- Ani being so respectful to his mumma is so cute. Shmi is so gentle- yet she will be forthright with her opinion and stubborn when she’s needs to protect Ani- she would have been an amazing grandma- and she would have shipped Anakin and Padmé so hard! I can just imagine the flustered, embarrassed 19 or 20-year-old Ani when they head to Tatooine after Anakin’s nightmares and Shmi is sharing embarrassing childhood stories about Anakin to Padmé. And the soft smile that would etch itself on her face when she walks in on Anakin and Padmé snuggled close to each other as they stay a night at the Skywalker-Lars homestead. Yes it just so happened that there were not enough beds so Anakin and Padmé had to share one- both were so nervous yet secretly thrilled to cuddle each other as they fell asleep 😴

- That conversation at the dinner table about how Anakin wants to finish a device to detect the slaving transmitters in the back of slaves’ necks makes me wish he and Padmé lived happily ever after on Naboo. They would go on fun adventures with their many children- Luke, Leia, Mila (after Milaflower), Jinn and another baby on the way, going to the snowy world of Hoth and swimming in the lakes of Naboo. When Anidala would want their hard-earned date week every 2 months or so, they would drop the kids off for 1 week with Sabé and the handmaiden gang (or Obi, Rex and Ahsoka?) so they could have a romantic vacation on Tatooine. But at the same time Anidala were investigating the slave situation and were being updated on the progress Sabé and Tonra had made by shipping freed slaves off world.

- The fluffy beard makes Ki-Ado seem like space Santa is swear

- I just noticed how upset and guilty Padmé appears when she suggests a vote of no confidence for poor, confused Valorum- she wants to immediately aid her struggling people but also feels wrong for ruining the career of confused Valorum

- Like frick off Palpatine he’s all smiling and like “I am going for Chancellor Yipee” and Padmé does not want to hear it! She realises there is more significant issues to worry about- *cough* and a *cough* “our people are dying in labour camps”! Ahah her feminist and stubbornness is shining through like a beacon!

- How soft Padmé’s features are and how gorgeous and intricately detailed her queen outfits are enhance her beauty yet symbolise how young she truly is

- Mace’s head shines so much at night time I swear

- I love how Qui-gon brushes off Obi’s negativity all the time and knows where how to focus his attention on the present and his passiona

- I actual burst out laughing when Ani was like ‘Qui-gon, Sir, I don’t wanna be a problem…”

- The elegant yet purposeful way the handmaidens stride onto the silver ship is so beautiful

- In the scene where Nute Gunray communicates with hologram Palpatine, I only just noticed the beautiful sculptures. These sculptures prove how much the Naboo people value art and express their creativity by surrounding themselves with decorations that have meaning

- Swampy Naboo giving Endor vibes damn

- I adore the bewilderment of Ani, Jar Jar and my Jedi boys when Padmé reveals herself as queen and everyone is like “what the the frick???”

- Maul’s staring into my soul! Ghost Padmé save me from the scary boy

- The strategic mind of Padmé is so inspiring- I love my intelligent gurl. She’s like- “ we make a diversion, we will use pilots to knock out the droid ship and we have Artoo’s strategic plan saved in his data bank—-”

- The fog and creepy bird noises as the Gungans march out onto the fields of Naboo builds some awesome suspense

- The droid army tanks moving sound like airplanes damn

- The handmaidens in battle action and being able to see their intricate hair buns is pretty sweet- I believe Eirtaé is the only blond handmaiden!

- Rest in peace that poor pilot who immediately crashed in the grassy Naboo fields

- ooh! I love how one of the Bravo pilots was a woman! Look at Naboo letting all genders be empowered, go my favourite planet!

- I love them oversized, glowing blueberries Jar Jar is still learning to throw

- Oh my Force! Sith are such dramatic turds I swear 😂 Darth Maul standing there menacingly, slowly lifting his eyes to death glare Obi and Qui-gon, alongside the music is killing me

- Maul flashing his teethies like a dog is hilarious 😆

- Maybe Jar Jar do be a sith… I mean, when his foot got tangled in the wiring of a battle droid and as he clumsily tried to escape the wire snaking around him- he managed to shoot many droids…

- Artoo is like man why the hell I gotta babysit this blond beach boy when I could be destroying the space station in like 2 minutes

- Qui-gon being stabbed brought me on the verge of tears. But I could not help but notice that, in the close up after he was stabbed so cruelly, his eyes sparkled a really deep blue- I never noticed he had sky blue eyes until then damn

-I love how prepared Padmé is with blasters resting in her secret throne compartment

- It was like a Star exploding seeing the Trade Federarion ship go BOOM

- The love in Qui-gon’s eyes as he strokes Obi’s cheek- I MISS HiM YOUR HONOUR

- SASSY PANAKA- “I think you can kiss your Trade franchise goodbye.” gIVes ME LiFE

- My favourite handmaiden outfit is the golden hooded robe after the end of the Invasion of Naboo

- Yoda is so scary when he frustrated DAMN! Agree with you the COUNCIL DOES NOT!!!

- In the funeral scene, I never noticed George Lucas’s little sneaky camera close up. After Mace exclaims- “but which was destroyed- the master or apprentice?” It zooms in on Palpatine’s face and fuzzes out everyone else- Foreshadowing is impeccabile here! Never noticed it when I was younger!

- Mwhaah- I noticed in a scene a few seconds before the movie ends that there was a handmaiden standing behind Obi in a beautiful, silverish, grey cloak. At first I was like- “hey that looks like Sabé!” I then had to skip back to the scene once the credits started rolling- and I took a picture of the face! I think I am right- the face seems to boast the features of Keira Knightly! Take a look for yourself:

Now enjoy some of my favourite moments and some aesthetic gifs from this amazing, underrated, family- feel good movie:

We will begin with incredibly blond and happy Anakin- poor Ani deserved to realise that little Luke, Leia, Jinn, Mila and his other kids looked like mini versions of him and Padmé….

So if you have made it to the end of my very long post….thank you!

Feel free to chat to me in the comments about anything Star Wars and positivity related.

May the force be with us all 🌌💖